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I  SUPPOSE  YOU'VE  GIVEN  HIM  NO  REALLY  SERIOUS  CAUSE 
FOR  COMPLAINT" 


MRS.    MAXON 
PROTESTS 


BY 

ANTHONY    HOPE 


AUTHOR  OF 

"THE  DOLLY  DIALOGUES" 
'THE  PRISONER  or  ZENDA"  ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED   BY 
R.    F.    SCHABELITZ 


HARPER  &  BROTHERS  PUBLISHERS 

NEW    YORK    AND    LONDON 
M  C  M  X  I 


COPYRIGHT    191O.    1911.    BY    ANTHONY    HOPE    HAWKINS 


PRINTED   IN    THE    UNITED   STATES   OF    AMERICA 
PUBLISHED    MAY.    1911 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

"l     SUPPOSE     YOU'VE     GIVEN     HIM     NO    REALLY 

SERIOUS   CAUSE    FOR  COMPLAINT*'        .      .      .       Frontispiece 

"YOU  CAN'T  EXPECT  WOMEN  TO  STAND  BEING 

SAT  UPON  AND  SQUASHED  ALL  THEIR  LIVES  "  Facing  p.    38 

"ON  MY  HONOR,  i  DON'T  UNDERSTAND"  .  .  "  44 
"THANK  YOU.  GOOD-MORNING,  MR.  MAXON"  "  92 
THE  ANECDOTES,  THOUGH  INTIMATE,  HAD  BEEN 

RIGIDLY  DECOROUS '  "  IQO 

"l  WAS  MRS.  MAXON,  THAT'S  ALL,"  SAID  WINNIE  "  268 
SHE  SUDDENLY  LEANED  FORWARD  AND  PATTED 

WINNIE'S  HAND "  316 

WINNIE  SHUT  DOCTOR  WESTERMARCK  ON  "THE 

ORIGIN  AND  DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE  MORAL 

IDEAS"  WITH  A  BANG .     '*      334 


MRS.  MAXON    PROTESTS 


MRS.  MAXON    PROTESTS 


"INKPAT!" 

"  TNKPAT!"    She  shot  out  the  word  in  a  bitter  playful- 

1  ness,  making  it  serve  for  the  climax  of  her  complaints. 

Hobart  Gaynor  repeated  the  word — if  it  could  be  called 
a  word — after  his  companion  in  an  interrogative  tone. 

"Yes,  just  hopeless  inkpat,  and  there's  an  end  of  it!" 

Mrs.  Maxon  leaned  back  as  far  as  the  unaccommodating 
angles  of  the  office-chair  allowed,  looking  at  her  friend  and 
counsellor  with  a  faint  yet  rather  mischievous  smile  on  her 
pretty  face.  In  the  solicitor's  big,  high,  bare  room  she 
seemed  both  small  and  very  dainty.  Her  voice  had  trem- 
bled a  little,  but  she  made  a  brave  effort  at  gayety  as  she 
explained  her  cryptic  word. 

"When  a  things  running  in  your  head  day  and  night, 
week  after  week  and  month  after  month,  you  can't  use  that 
great,  long  word  you  lawyers  use.  Besides,  it's  so  horribly 
impartial."  She  pouted  over^his  undesirable  quality. 

A  light  broke  on  Gaynor,  and  he  smiled. 

"Oh,  you  mean  incompatibility?" 

"That's  it,  Hobart.  But  you  must  see  it's  far  too  long, 
besides  being,  as  I  say,  horribly  impartial.  So  I  took  to 

I 


MRS.  MAXON    PROTESTS 

calling  it  by  a  pet  name  of  my  own.  That  makes  it  come 
over  to  my  side.  Do  you  see  ?'* 

"Not  quite."  He  smiled  still.  He  had  once  been  in 
love  with  Winnie  Maxon,  and,  though  that  state  of  feeling 
as  regards  her  was  long  past,  she  still  had  the  power  to 
fascinate  and  amuse  him,  even  when  she  was  saying  things 
which  he  suspected  of  being  unreasonable.  Lawyers  have 
that  suspicion  very  ready  for  women. 

"Oh  yes!  The  big  word  just  means  that  we  can't  get  on 
with  one  another,  and  hints  that  it's  probably  just  as  much 
my  fault  as  his.  But  inkpat  means  all  the  one  thousand 
and  one  unendurable  things  he  does  and  says  to  me.  When- 
ever he  does  or  says  one,  I  say  invariably,  'Inkpat!'  The 
next  moment  there's  another — 'Inkpat!'  I  really  shouldn't 
have  time  for  the  long  word  even  if  I  wanted  to  use  it." 

"You  were  very  fond  of  him  once,  weren't  you  ?" 

She  shrugged  her  thin  shoulders  impatiently.  "Suppos- 
ing I  was  ?"  Evidently  she  did  not  care  to  be  reminded  of 
the  fact,  if  it  were  a  fact.  She  treated  it  rather  as  an  ac- 
cusation. "Does  one  really  know  anything  about  a  man 
before  one  marries  him  ?  And  then  it's  too  late." 

"Are  you  pleading  for  trial  trips  ?" 

"Oh,  that's  impossible,  of  course." 

"Is  anything  impossible  nowadays?"  He  looked  up  at 
the  ceiling,  his  brows  raised  in  protest  against  the  vagaries 
of  the  age. 

"Anyhow,  it's  not  what  we're  told.  I  only  meant  that 
having  cared  once  made  very  little  difference  really — it 
comes  to  count  for  next  to  nothing,  you  know." 

"Not  a  gospel  very  acceptable  to  an  engaged  man, 
Winnie!" 

She  reached  out  her  arm  and  touched  his  coat-sleeve 


"INKPAT!" 

lightly.  "I  know — I'm  sorry.  I'm  longing  to  know  your 
Cicely  and  be  great  friends  with  her.  And  it's  too  bad  to 
bother  you  with  the  seamy  side  of  it  just  now.  But  you're 
such  a  friend,  and  so  sensible,  and  a  lawyer  too,  you  see. 
You  forgive  me  ?" 

"I'm  awfully  glad  to  help,  if  I  can.  Could  you  give  me 
a  few — I  don't  want  a  thousand  and  one,  but  a  few — in- 
stances of  'inkpat'  ?" 

"That  wouldn't  be  much  use.  Broadly  speaking,  ink- 
pat's  a  demand  that  a  woman  should  be  not  what  she  is, 
but  a  sort  of  stunted  and  inferior  reproduction  of  the  man 
— what  he  thinks  he  would  be  if  he  were  a  woman.  Any- 
thing that's  not  like  that  gets  inkpatted  at  once.  Oh, 
Hobart,  it  is  horrible!  Because  it's  so  utterly  hopeless, 
you  know.  How  can  I  be  somebody  else  ?  Above  all, 
somebody  like  Cyril — only  a  woman?  It's  absurd!  A 
Cyrilesque  woman!  Oh!" 

"I  don't  know  him  very  well,  but  it  certainly  does  sound 
absurd.  Are  you  sure  you  haven't  misunderstood  ?  Can't 
you  have  an  explanation  ?" 

"Inkpat  never  explains;  it  never  sees  that  there  is  any- 
thing to  explain.  It  preaches  or  lectures  or  is  sarcastic 
or  grumbles  or  sulks — and  I  suppose  it  would  swear,  if 
Cyril  didn't  happen  to  be  so  religious.  But  explain  or  lis- 
ten to  an  explanation — never!" 

She  rose  and  walked  to  one  of  the  tall  windows  that 
looked  on  to  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields.  "I  declare,  I  envy  the 
raggedest,  hungriest  child  playing  there  in  the  garden,"  she 
said.  "At  least,  it  may  be  itself.  Didn't  God  make  me 
just  as  much  as  He  made  Cyril  ?" 

It  was  high  summer,  and  the  grate  held  nothing  more 
comforting  than  a  dingy  paper  ornament;  yet  Hobart  Gay- 

3 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

nor  got  up  and  stood  with  his  back  to  it,  as  men  are  wont 
to  do  in  moments  of  perplexity.  He  perceived  that  there 
was  not  much  use  in  pressing  for  his  concrete  cases.  If 
they  came,  they  would  individually  be,  or  seem,  trifles,  no 
doubt.  The  accumulation  of  them  was  the  mischief;  that 
was  embraced  and  expressed  in  the  broad  sweep  of  incom- 
patibility; the  two  human  beings  could  not  keep  step  to- 
gether. But  he  put  one  question. 

"I  suppose  you've  given  him  no  really  serious  cause  for 
complaint  ?" 

She  turned  quickly  round  from  the  window.  "You 
mean —  ?" 

"Well,  I  mean,  anybody  else — er — making  friction?" 

"Hobart,  you  know  that's  not  my  way!  I  haven't  a 
man  -  friend  except  you  and  my  cousin,  Stephen  Aiken- 
head — and  I  very  seldom  see  either  of  you.  And  Stephen's 
married,  and  you're  engaged.  That's  a  ridiculous  idea, 
Hobart." 

She  was  evidently  indignant,  but  Gaynor  was  not  dis- 
turbed. 

"We  lawyers  have  to  suspect  everybody,"  he  reminded 
her  with  a  smile,  "  and  to  expect  anything,  however  im- 
probable. So  I'll  ask  now  if  your  husband  has  any  great 
woman-friend!" 

"That's  just  as  ridiculous.  I  could  be  wicked  enough 
to  wish  he  had.  Let  somebody  else  have  a  try  at  it!" 

"Can't  you — somehow — get  back  to  what  made  you  like 
him  at  first  ?  Do  you  understand  what  I  mean  ?" 

"Yes,  I  do  —  and  I've  tried."  Her  eyes  looked  be- 
wildered, even  frightened.  "But,  Hobart,  I  can't  realize 
what  it  was.  Unless  it  was  just  his  looks — he  is  very  hand- 
some, you  know." 

4 


"INKPAT!" 

"He  stands  well  at  the  bar.  He's  getting  on  fast,  he's 
very  straight,  and  I  don't  think  he's  unpopular,  from  what 
I  hear." 

She  caught  his  hint  quickly.  "A  lot  of  people  will  say 
it's  my  fault?  —  that  I'm  unreasonable,  and  all  in  the 
wrong  ?" 

"You'd  have  to  reckon  with  a  good  deal  of  that." 

"I  don't  care  what  people  say." 

"Are  you  sure  of  that  ?"  he  asked,  quietly.  "It's  a  pretty 
big  claim  to  make  for  one's  self,  either  for  good  or  for  evil." 

"It's  only  his  friends,  after  all.  Because  I've  got  none. 
Well,  I've  got  you."  She  came  and  stood  by  him.  "You're 
against  me,  though,  aren't  you  ?" 

"I  admit  I  think  a  wife — or  a  husband — ought  to  stand 
a  lot." 

"It's  not  as  if  my  baby  had  lived.  I  might  have  gone  on 
trying  then.  It  wouldn't  have  been  just  undiluted  Cyril." 

"That  makes  some  difference,  I  agree.  Still,  in  the  gen- 
eral interest  of  things — " 

"I  must  be  tortured  all  my  life  ?"  Her  challenge  of  the 
obligation  rang  out  sharply. 

With  a  restless  toss  of  his  head,  he  sat  down  at  his  table 
again.  She  stood  where  she  was,  staring  at  the  dingy  orna- 
ment in  the  grate. 

"Life  the  other  way  mayn't  turn  out  particularly  easy. 
You'll  have  troubles,  annoyances — temptations,  perhaps." 

"I  can  face  those.  I  can  trust  myself,  Hobart.  Can  he 
prevent  my  going  if  I  want  to  ?" 

"No." 

"Can  he  make  me  come  back  ?" 

"No.  He  can,  if  he  chooses,  get  a  formal  order  for  you 
to  go  back,  but  it  won't  be  enforced.  It  will  only  give  him 

5 


MRS.   MAXON     PROTESTS 

a  right  to  a  legal  separation — not  to  a  divorce,  of  course — 
just  a  separation." 

"You're  sure  they  can't  make  me  go  back?" 

"Oh,  quite.     That's  settled." 

"That's  what  I  wanted  to  be  quite  clear  about."  She 
stepped  up  to  his  chair  and  laid  her  hand  on  his  shoulder. 
"You're  still  against  me?" 

"Oh,  how  can  I  tell?  The  heart  knows  its  own  bitter- 
ness— nobody  else  can." 

She  pressed  his  shoulder  in  a  friendly  fashion;  she  was 
comforted  by  his  half-approval.  At  least,  it  was  not  a  con- 
demnation, even  though  it  refused  the  responsibility  of 
sanction. 

"Of  course,  he  needn't  give  you  any  money." 

"I've  got  my  own.  You  got  it  settled  on  me  and  paid 
to  myself." 

"It's  very  little — about  a  hundred  and  fifty  a  year.  I 
want  you  to  look  at  all  sides  of  the  business." 

"Of  course,  you're  right.  But  there's  only  one  to  me — 
to  get  away,  away,  away!" 

"It's  just  about  five  years  since  you  came  here  with  your 
mother — about  the  marriage-settlement.  I  thought  it  rather 
rough  you  should  come  to  me,  I  remember." 

"Mother  didn't  know  about  the — the  sentimental  reason 
against  it,  Hobart — and  it  doesn't  matter  now,  does  it  ? 
And  poor  mother's  beyond  being  troubled  over  me." 

"Where  will  you  go — if  you  do  go  ?" 

"I  am  going.  I  shall  stay  with  the  Aikenheads  for  a  bit 
— till  I'm  settled  on  my  own." 

"Have  you  hinted  anything  about  it  to — him?" 

"To  Cyril?  No.  I  must  tell  him.  Of  course,  he 
knows  that  I'm  silly  enough  to  think  that  I'm  unhappy." 

6 


"INKPAT!" 

"It  'II  be  an  awful  facer  for  him,  won't  it  ?" 

She  walked  round  the  table  and  stood  looking  at  him 
squarely,  yet  with  a  deprecatory  droop  of  her  mouth. 

"Yes,  it  will,"  she  said.  "Awful!  But,  Hobart,  I  not 
only  have  no  love  left,  I've  no  pity  left.  He  has  crushed  a 
great  deal  in  me,  and  he  has  crushed  that  with  the  rest." 

Gaynor's  hands  played  feebly  with  his  big  pad  of  blot- 
ting-paper. 

"That  it  should  happen  to  you  of  all  people!"  he  mum- 
bled. His  air  expressed  more  than  a  lament  for  unhappi- 
ness;  as  well  as  regretting  sorrow,  he  deplored  something 
distasteful.  But  Winnie  Maxon  was  deaf  to  this  note; 
she  saw  only  sympathy. 

"That's  your  old  dear  kindness  for  me,"  she  smiled,  with 
tears  in  her  eyes.  "You  won't  turn  against  me,  anyhow, 
will  you,  Hobart  ?" 

He  stretched  out  his  hand  to  meet  hers.  "No,  my  dear. 
Didn't  I  love  you  once  ?" 

"And  I  do  love  your  dear  round  face  and  your  honest 
eyes.  Yes,  and  the  nose  you  used  to  be  unhappy  about — 
because  it  was  a  pug — in  those  very  old  days;  and  if  my 
ship  gets  wrecked,  I  know  you'll  come  out  with  the  life- 
boat. Good-bye  now;  I'll  write  to  you  about  it." 

The  tender  note  struck  at  the  end  of  their  talk,  old-time 
memories,  the  echo  of  her  soft,  pleading  voice,  availed  for 
some  minutes  after  his  visitor's  departure  to  blind  Hobart 
Gaynor's  shrewd  eyes  to  the  fact  that  she  had  really  put 
before  him  no  case  that  could  seem  at  all  substantial  in  the 
eyes  of  the  world.  To  her,  no  doubt,  everything  might  be 
as  bad,  as  intolerable  and  hopeless,  as  she  declared;  he  did 
not  question  her  sincerity.  But  as  the  personal  impression 
of  her  faded,  his  hard  common-sense  asserted  forcibly  that 

7 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

it  all  amounted  to  no  more  than  that  she  had  come  not  to 
like  her  husband;  that  was  the  sum  of  what  the  world  would 
see  in  it.  May  women  leave  their  husbands  merely  because 
they  have  come  not  to  like  them  ?  Some  people  said  yes,  as 
he  was  aware.  They  were  not  people  whom  he  respected, 
nor  their  theory  one  which  he  approved.  He  was  of  con- 
servative make  in  all  things,  especially  in  questions  of  sex. 
He  was  now  uneasily  conscious  that  but  for  her  personal 
fascination,  but  for  his  old  tenderness,  her  plea  would  not 
have  extorted  even  a  reluctant  semi-assent.  The  next  mo- 
ment he  was  denying  that  he  had  given  even  so  much.  Cer- 
tainly the  world  in  general — the  big,  respectable,  steady- 
going  world — would  not  accord  her  even  so  much.  Talk 
about  being  "crushed"  or  having  things  crushed  in  you 
needs,  in  the  eyes  of  this  world,  a  very  solid  backing  of  facts 
— things  that  can  be  sworn  to  in  the  box,  that  can  be  put  in 
the  "particulars"  of  your  petition,  that  can  be  located, 
dated,  and,  if  possible,  attested  by  an  independent  witness. 
Now  Mrs.  Maxon  did  not  appear  to  possess  one  single  fact 
of  this  order — or  surely  she  would  have  been  eager  to  pro- 
duce it  ? 

Comedians  and  cynics  are  fond  of  exhibiting  the  spec- 
tacle of  women  hounding  down  a  woman  on  the  one  hand, 
and,  on  the  other,  of  men  betraying  their  brethren  for  a 
woman's  favor.  No  exception  can  be  taken  to  such  pre- 
sentments; the  things  happen.  But  when  they  are  not  hap- 
pening— when  jealousy  and  passion  are  not  in  the  field — 
there  is  another  force,  another  instinct,  which  acts  with 
powerful  effect.  The  professed  students  of  human  nature 
call  it  sex-solidarity;  it  is  the  instinct  of  each  sex  to  stand 
together  against  the  other.  This  is  not  a  matter  of  in- 
dividual liking  or  disliking;  it  is  sex  politics,  a  conflict  be- 

8 


"INKPAT!" 

tween  rival  hosts,  eternally  divided.  With  personal  pre- 
possessions and  special  relations  out  of  the  way,  the  man 
is  for  the  man,  the  woman  for  the  woman.  As  minute  fol- 
lowed minute  after  Mrs.  Maxon's  departure,  it  became  more 
and  more  probable  to  Hobart  Gaynor  that  Cyril  Maxon 
had  something  to  say  for  himself.  And  was  not  Hobart 
himself  a  prospective  husband  ?  Too  much  in  love  to 
dream  of  a  like  fate  befalling  his  own  marriage,  he  yet  felt 
a  natural  sympathy  for  the  noble  army  in  which  he  was  so 
soon  to  enlist. 

"Well,  right  or  wrong,  I  promised  to  stand  by  her,  and  I 
will,"  was  his  final  thought,  as  he  drove  himself  back  to 
the  current  business  of  his  office  day.  Sympathy  for  Mrs. 
Maxon  mingled  in  it  with  a  certain  vexation  at  her  for 
having  in  some  sense  involved  him  in  so  obscure  and  trouble- 
some a  matter.  He  felt,  without  actually  foreseeing,  diffi- 
culties that  might  make  his  promise  hard  to  keep. 

The  tendency  of  personal  impressions  to  lose  their  power 
when  personal  presence  is  withdrawn  did  not  occur  to  Mrs. 
Maxon.  As  she  drove  home  to  Devonshire  Street,  she  com- 
forted herself  with  the  assurance  that  she  had  not  only 
kept  a  friend — as  she  had — but  also  secured  a  partisan. 
She  thought  that  Hobart  Gaynor  quite  understood  her 
case. 

"Rather  wonderful  of  him!"  she  reflected.  "Considering 
that  I  refused  him,  and  that  he's  at  this  moment  in  love  with 
Cicely  Marshfield." 

Her  heart  grew  very  warm  toward  her  old  friend,  so  loyal 
and  so  forgiving.  If  she  had  not  refused  him  ?  But  the 
temper  of  her  present  mood  forbade  the  soft,  if  sad,  conclu- 
sion that  she  had  made  a  mistake.  Who  really  knows  any- 
thing about  a  man  until  she  is  married  to  him  ?  And  then 

9 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

it  is  too  late.  "Don't  marry  a  friend — keep  him,"  was  her 
bitter  conclusion.  It  did  not  cross  her  mind  that  friendship, 
too — a  friendship  that  is  to  be  more  than  a  distant  and  pas- 
sive kindliness — must  make  reckoning  with  incompatibility. 


II 

A   CASE   OF   NECESSITY 

MRS.  MAXON'S  memory  of  the  evening  on  which  she 
administered  to  her  husband  his  "awful  facer"  was 
capricious.  It  preserved  as  much  of  the  preliminary  and 
the  accidental  as  of  the  real  gist  of  the  matter.  They  dined 
out  at  the  house  of  a  learned  judge.  The  party  was  ex- 
clusively legal,  but  the  conversation  of  the  young  barrister 
who  fell  to  her  lot  did  not  partake  of  that  complexion.  Fort- 
une used  him  in  the  cause  of  irony.  Much  struck  by  his 
companion's  charms — she  was  strung  up,  looked  well,  and 
talked  with  an  unusual  animation — and,  by  no  means  im- 
puting to  himself  any  deficiency  in  the  same  direction,  he 
made  play  with  a  pair  of  fine,  dark  eyes,  descanted  jocularly 
on  the  loneliness  of  a  bachelor's  life,  and  ventured  sly  allu- 
sions to  Mr.  Cyril  Maxon's  blessed  lot. 

"I  hope  he  knows  his  luck!"  said  the  young  barrister. 
Well,  he  would  know  it  soon,  at  all  events,  Winnie  reflected. 

In  the  drawing-room  afterward,  a  fat,  gushing  woman  gave 
the  other  side  of  it.  "We  must  be  better  friends,  my  dear," 
said  she.  "And  you  mustn't  be  jealous  if  we  all  adore  your 
clever,  handsome,  rising  husband." 

Such  things  are  the  common  trivialities  of  talk.  Both  the 
fat  woman  and  the  young  barrister  had  happened  often 
before.  But  their  appearance  to-night  struck  on  Winnie 
2  II 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

Maxon's  sense  of  humor — a  bitter,  twisted  humor  at  this 
moment.  She  would  have  liked  to  cry,  "Oh,  you  fools!" 
and  hurl  her  decision  in  her  husband's  face  across  the  draw- 
ing-room. Compliments  on  our  neighbor's  private  felicity 
are  of  necessity  attended  with  some  risk.  Why  are  we  not 
allowed  to  abide  on  safe  ground  and  say,  "I  beg  leave  to 
congratulate  you  on  the  amount  of  your  income  and  to  hope 
that  it  may  soon  be  doubled  "  ?  Only  the  ruined  could  ob- 
ject to  that,  and  treading  on  their  corns  is  no  serious  matter. 

On  the  drive  home — the  judge  lived  in  a  remote  part  of 
Kensington — Cyril  Maxon  was  perversely  and  (as  it  seemed 
to  his  wife)  incredibly  fertile  in  plans  for  the  days  to  come. 
He  not  only  forecast  his  professional  career — there  he  was 
within  his  rights — but  he  mapped  out  their  joint  movements 
for  at  least  three  years  ahead — their  houses  for  the  summer, 
their  trips  abroad,  their  visits  to  the  various  and  numerous 
members  of  the  Maxon  clan.  He  left  the  future  without  a 
stitch  of  its  dark  mantle  of  uncertainty.  Luckily  he  was  not 
a  man  who  needed  much  applause  or  even  assent;  he  did 
not  consult;  he  settled.  His  long,  thoroughly  lawyer-like, 
indisputably  handsome  and  capable  profile — he  had  a  habit 
of  talking  to  his  wife  without  looking  at  her — chained  the  at- 
tention of  her  eyes.  Was  she  really  equal  to  a  fight  with 
that  ?  A  shadowy,  full-bottomed  wig  seemed  even  now  to 
frame  the  face  and  to  invest  it  with  the  power  of  life  and 
death. 

"Then  the  year  after  I  really  do  mean  to  take  you  to 
Palestine  and  Damascus." 

Not  an  idea  that  even  of  Cyril  Maxon  the  rude  gods  might 
make  sport! 

"Who  knows  what  '11  happen  three  years  hence?"  she 
asked  in  gay  tones,  sharply  cut  off  by  a  gasp  in  the  throat. 

12 


A    CASE    OF    NECESSITY 

"You've  a  cold  ?"  he  asked,  solicitously.  He  was  not 
lacking  in  kindly  protective  instincts.  Yet  even  his  solici- 
tude was  peremptory.  "I  can't  have  you  taking  any  risks." 

"It's  nothing,"  she  gasped,  now  almost  sure  that  she 
could  never  go  through  with  her  task.  Even  in  kindness 
he  assumed  a  property  so  absolute. 

The  brougham  drew  up  at  their  house.  "Nine-fifteen 
sharp  to-morrow,"  Cyril  told  the  coachman.  That  was  no 
less,  and  no  more,  certain  than  Palestine  and  Damascus. 
He  went  through  the  hall  (enlivened  with  prints  of  lord 
chancellors  surviving  and  defunct)  into  his  study.  She  fol- 
lowed, breathing  quickly. 

"  I  asked  the  Chippinstalls  to  dine  next  Wednesday.  Will 
you  send  her  a  reminder  to-morrow  morning  ?"  He  began 
to  fill  his  pipe.  She  shut  the  door  and  sat  down  in  a  chair  in 
front  of  the  fireplace. 

There  had  always  seemed  to  her  something  crushing  in 
this  workshop  of  learning,  logic,  and  ambition.  To-night 
the  atmosphere  was  overwhelming;  she  felt  flattened,  ground 
down;  she  caught  for  her  breath.  He  had  lit  his  pipe  and 
now  glanced  at  her,  puzzled  by  her  silence.  "There's  noth- 
ing else  on  on  Wednesday,  is  there  ?" 

"Cyril,  we're  not  happy,  are  we  ?" 

He  appeared  neither  aggrieved  nor  surprised  at  her  sudden 
plunge;  to  her  he  seemed  aggressively  patient  of  the  irra- 
tional. 

"We  have  our  difficulties,  like  other  married  couples,  I 
suppose.  I  hope  they  will  grow  less  as  time  goes  on." 

"That  means  that  I  sha'n't  oppose  you  any  more  ?" 

"Our  tastes  and  views  will  grow  into  harmony,  I  hope." 

"That  mine  will  grow  into  harmony  with  yours  ?" 

He  smiled,  though  grimly.     Few  men  really  mind  being 

'3 


MRS.  MAXON    PROTESTS 

accused  of  despotism,  since  it  savors  of  power.  "  Is  that 
such  a  terrible  thing  to  happen  to  my  wife  ?" 

"We're  not  happy,  Cyril." 

"Marriage  wasn't  instituted  for  the  sole  purpose  of  ena- 
bling people  to  enjoy  themselves." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  what  it  was  instituted  forl" 

"You  can  look  in  your  prayer-book." 

Her  chin  rested  on  her  hands,  her  white,  sharp  elbows  on 
her  knee.  The  tall,  strong,  self-reliant  man  looked  at  her 
frail  beauty.  He  was  not  without  love,  not  without  pity,  but 
entirely  without  comprehension — nor  would  comprehension 
have  meant  pardon.  Her  implied  claim  clashed  both  with 
his  instinct  and  with  his  convictions.  The  love  and  pity 
were  not  of  a  quality  to  sustain  the  shock. 

"I  wish  you'd  go  and  see  Attlebury,"  he  went  on.  Attle- 
bury  was,  as  it  were,  the  keeper  of  his  conscience,  an  emi- 
nent clergyman  of  extreme  High  Church  views. 

"Mr.  Attlebury  can't  prevent  me  from  being  miserable. 
Whenever  I  complain  of  anything,  you  want  to  send  me  to 
Mr.  Attlebury!" 

"I'm  not  ashamed  of  suggesting  that  you  could  find  help 
in  what  he  represents  on  earth." 

She  gave  a  faint,  plaintive  moan.  Was  heaven  as  well  as 
this  great  world  to  be  marshalled  against  her,  a  poor  little 
creature  asking  only  to  be  free  ?  So  it  seemed. 

"Or  am  I  to  gather  that  you  have  become  a  sceptic?" 
The  sarcasm  was  heavily  marked.  "Has  a  mind  like  yours 
the  impudence  to  think  for  itself?"  So  she  translated  his 
words — and  thereby  did  him  no  substantial  injustice.  If 
his  intellect  could  bend  the  knee,  was  hers  to  be  defiant  ? 

"I  had  hoped,"  he  went  on,  "that  our  great  sorrow  would 
have  made  a  change  in  you." 


A    CASE    OF    NECESSITY 

The  suggestion  seemed  to  her  to  be  hitting  below  the 
belt.  She  had  seen  no  signs  of  overwhelming  sorrow  in 
him. 

"Why  ?"  she  asked,  sharply.  "It  made  none  in  you,  did 
it?" 

"There's  no  need  to  be  pert." 

"When  you  say  it  to  me,  it's  wisdom.  When  I  say  it  to 
you,  it's  pertness!  Yes,  that's  always  the  way.  You're 
perfect  already — I  must  change!" 

"This  is  becoming  a  wrangle.  Haven't  we  had  enough 
of  it?" 

"Yes,  Cyril,  enough  for  a  lifetime,  I  think."  At  last  she 
raised  her  head  and  let  her  hands  fall  on  her  lap.  "At 
least,  I  have,"  she  added,  looking  at  him  steadily. 

He  returned  her  glance  for  a  moment,  then  turned  away 
and  sat  down  at  his  writing-table.  Several  letters  had  come 
by  the  late  post,  and  he  began  to  open  them. 

He  had  made  her  angry;  her  anger  mastered  her  fears. 

"I  was  brought  up  to  think  as  you  do,"  she  said.  "To 
think  that  once  married  was  married  forever.  I  suppose  I 
think  so  still;  and  you  know  I've  respected  my — my  vows. 
But  there  are  limits.  A  woman  can't  be  asked  to  give  up 
everything.  She  herself — what  she  owes  to  herself — must 
come  first — her  own  life,  her  own  thoughts,  her  freedom, 
her  rights  as  a  human  being." 

He  was  reading  a  letter  and  did  not  raise  his  eyes  from  it. 

"Those  are  modern  views,  I  suppose?  Old-fashioned 
folk  would  call  them  suggestions  of  the  devil.  But  we've 
had  this  sort  of  discussion  several  times  before.  Why  go 
over  it  again  ?  We  must  agree  to  differ." 

"If  you  would!  But  you  don't,  you  can't,  you  never  will. 
You  say  that  to-night.  You'll  begin  drilling  me  to  your 

15 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

march  and  cutting  me  to  your  pattern  again  to-morrow 
morning." 

He  made  no  reply  at  all.  He  went  on  reading  letters. 
He  had  signified  that  the  discussion  was  at  an  end.  That 
ended  it.  It  was  his  way;  if  he  thought  enough  had  been 
said,  she  was  to  say  no  more.  It  had  happened  thus  a  hun- 
dred times — and  she  had  inwardly  cried  "Inkpat!" 

Well,  this  time — at  last — she  would  show  him  that  the 
topic  was  not  exhausted.  She  would  speak  again,  and  make 
him  speak.  Malice  possessed  her;  she  smiled  at  the  grave- 
faced  man  methodically  dealing  with  his  correspondence. 
For  the  first  time  there  came  upon  her  a  certain  satisfaction 
in  the  actual  doing  of  the  thing;  before,  she  had  dreaded  that 
to  her  heart,  however  much  she  desired  the  freedom  it  would 
bring.  To  hit  back  once — once  after  five  long  years! 

"Oh,  about  the  Chippinstalls,"  she  said.  "You  can  have 
them,  of  course,  but  I  sha'n't  be  here." 

He  turned  his  head  quickly  round  toward  her.  "Why 
not  ?" 

"  I'm  going  to  the  Stephen  Aikenheads'  to-morrow." 

"It's  not  been  your  habit  to  pay  visits  alone,  nor  to  ar- 
range visits  without  consulting  me.  And  I  don't  much  care 
about  the  atmosphere  that  reigns  at  Aikenhead's."  He  laid 
down  his  letters  and  smiled  at  her  in  a  constrained  fashion. 
"  But  I  don't  want  to  give  you  a  fresh  grievance.  I'll  stretch 
a  point.  How  long  do  you  want  to  be  away  ?" 

He  was  trying  to  be  kind;  he  actually  was  stretching  a 
point,  for  he  had  often  decried  the  practice  of  married  women 
— young  and  pretty  married  women — going  a-visiting  with- 
out their  husbands;  and  he  had  just  as  often  expressed  grave 
disapproval  of  her  cousin,  Stephen  Aikenhead.  For  him  a 
considerable  stretch!  Her  malice  was  disarmed.  Even  a 

16 


A    CASE    OF    NECESSITY 

pang  of  that  pity  which  she  had  declared  crushed  to  death 
reached  her  heart.  She  stretched  out  her  slim  arms  to  him, 
rather  as  one  who  begs  a  great  boon  than  as  the  deliverer  of 
a  mortal  defiance. 

"Cyril,  I'm  never  coming  back." 

For  a  full  minute  he  sat  silent,  looking  steadily  at  her. 
Incapable  as  he  was  of  appreciating  how  she  had  arrived  at, 
or  been  driven  to,  this  monstrous  decision,  yet  he  had  per- 
ception enough  and  experience  enough  to  see  that  she  was 
sincere  in  it  and  set  on  it;  and  he  knew  that  she  could  give 
effect  to  it  if  she  chose.  In  that  minute's  silence  he  fought 
hard  with  himself;  he  had  a  mighty  temptation  to  scold,  a 
still  mightier  to  flout  and  jeer,  to  bring  his  heavy  artillery  of 
sarcasm  to  bear.  He  resisted  and  triumphed. 

He  looked  at  the  clock.     It  was  a  quarter-past  twelve. 

"You'll  hardly  expect  me  to  deal  with  such  a  very  im- 
portant matter  at  this  hour  of  the  night,  and  without  full 
consideration,"  he  said.  "You  must  know  that  such  sepa- 
rations are  contrary  to  my  views,  and  I  hope  you  know  that, 
in  spite  of  the  friction  which  has  arisen,  I  have  still  a  strong 
affection  for  you." 

"I  sha'n't  change  my  mind,  Cyril.     I  sha'n't  come  back." 

He  kept  the  curb  on  himself.  "  I  really  would  rather  not 
discuss  it  without  more  consideration,  Winnie — and  I  think 
I  have  a  right  to  ask  you  to  give  it  a  little  more,  and  to  hear 
what  I  have  to  say  after  reflection.  Is  that  unfair  ?  At 
least  you'll  admit  it's  a  serious  step  ?" 

"I  suppose  it's  fair,"  she  murmured,  impatiently.  She 
would  have  given  the  world  to  be  able  to  call  it  grossly  un- 
fair. "  But  it's  no  use,"  she  added,  almost  fierce  in  her  re- 
jection of  the  idea  that  her  determination  might  weaken. 

"Let  us  both  think  and  pray,"  he  said,  gravely.  "This 

'7 


MRS.  MAXON    PROTESTS 

visit  of  yours  to  the  Aikenheads'  may  be  a  good  thing.  It  '11 
give  you  time  to  reflect,  and  there'll  be  no  passing  causes  of 
irritation  to  affect  your  calmer  judgment.  Let  us  treat  it  as 
settled  that  you  stay  with  them  for  a  fortnight — but  treat 
nothing  else  as  settled  to-night.  One  thing  more — have  you 
told  anybody  about  this  idea  ?" 

"  Only  Hobart  Gaynor.  I  went  and  asked  him  whether  I 
could  do  it  if  I  wanted  to.  I  told  him  I  meant  to  do  it." 

"  He'll  hold  his  tongue.   Mention  it  to  nobody  else, please." 

"I  won't  till— till  it's  settled."  She  smiled.  "We've 
actually  agreed  on  one  or  two  things!  That's  very  unusual 
in  our  wrangles,  Cyril." 

He  came  up  to  her  and  kissed  her  on  the  forehead.  "For 
God's  sake,  think!  You  don't  in  the  least  know  what  it 
means  to  you — or  to  me  either." 

She  drew  her  head  quickly  back;  a  bitter  retort  was  on 
the  tip  of  her  tongue.  "Yes — but  I  know  what  life  with  you 
means!"  She  did  not  utter  it;  there  was  a  pinched  weari- 
ness in  his  face  which  for  the  moment  disarmed  her.  She 
sighed  disconsolately,  turned  away  from  him,  and  drifted 
out  of  the  room,  her  shoulders  bent  as  though  by  great 
fatigue. 

She  had  suffered  one  or  two  transient  pangs  of  pity;  hav- 
ing feared  a  storm,  she  had  experienced  relief  at  his  modera- 
tion, but  gave  him  no  credit  for  it.  She  did  not  understand 
how  hard  it  was  to  him.  She  was  almost  inclined  to  hold 
it  a  device — an  exhibition  (once  again  exhibited)  of  how 
much  wiser,  more  reasonable,  and  more  thoughtful  he  was 
than  the  happy-go-lucky  being  to  whom  he  was  mated.  She 
carried  her  grievances  out  of  the  room  on  her  bowed 
shoulders — just  as  heavy  as  ever,  just  as  insupportable. 

The  handsome,  clever,  rising  man  was  left  face  to  face 

18 


A   CASE    OF    NECESSITY 

with  what  he  feared  and  hated  most  in  this  world — a  failure. 
He  had  fallen  in  love  with  the  pretty  body;  he  had  never 
doubted  that  he  could  shape  and  model  the  malleable  mind. 
Why  not  ?  It  was  in  no  way  a  great  or  remarkable  mind. 
She  was  not  very  talented,  nor  exceptionally  strong  willed, 
nor  even  very  obstinate.  Nor  ungoverned,  nor  ultra- 
emotional,  nor  unmoral.  She  was  a  woman  more  than  or- 
dinarily attractive,  but  hardly  more  than  ordinary  in  other 
respects.  And,  looking  back  on  five  years,  he  realized  the 
enormous  and  constant  pains  he  had  taken  with  her.  It  had 
been  matter  of  conscience  as  well  as  matter  of  pride;  when 
the  two  join  forces,  what  is  left  to  fight  them  ?  And  they 
constantly  form  an  alliance.  Defeat  threatened  even  this 
potent  confederation — defeat  at  the  hands  of  one  whom  he 
counted  little  more  than  a  charming,  wilful  child. 

Charming  ?  Softer  emotions,  offspring  of  memory,  suf- 
fered a  resurrection  not  in  the  end  charged  with  much  real 
import.  He  was  of  the  men  who  satisfy  emotion  in  order  to 
quiet  it;  marriage  was  in  his  view — and  in  the  view  of  au- 
thorities in  which  he  believed — better  than  being  in  love  as 
well  as  different  from  it.  In  the  sense  appropriate  to  volup- 
tuaries, he  had  never  been  in  love  at  all.  What  remained, 
then,  to  combat  his  profound  distaste  and  disapproval  for 
all  she  now  advanced,  her  claims,  pretensions,  and  griev- 
ances ?  In  the  end  two  disparate,  yet  closely  allied,  forces — 
loyalty  to  a  great  cause  and  hatred  of  personal  defeat.  Let 
him  make  himself  champion  of  the  cause :  the  two  became 
one.  Could  Heaven  and  he  conjoined  succumb  to  any  on- 
slaught ? 

He  faced  his  theory  logically  and  boldly.  "She  is  my 
wife.  I'm  as  responsible  for  her  as  I  am  for  myself.  She 
may  deny  that — I  can't." 

19 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

For  good  or  evil,  for  joy  or  pain,  one  flesh,  one  mind,  one 
spirit,  usque  in  sternum.  There  was  the  high,  uncom- 
promising doctrine. 

His  wife  did  not  consciously  or  explicitly  dissent  from  it. 
As  she  had  told  him,  she  was  bred  to  it.  Her  plea  was 
simply  that,  be  it  right  or  be  it  wrong,  she  could  not  live  up 
to  it.  She  could  observe  the  prohibitions  it  implied — she 
had  kept  and  would  keep  her  restraining  vows — but  she 
could  no  longer  fulfil  the  positive  injunctions.  If  she  sought 
at  all  for  an  intellectual  or  speculative  justification,  it  was  as 
an  afterthought,  as  a  plea  to  conciliate  such  a  friend  as 
Hobart  Gaynor,  or  as  a  weapon  of  defence  against  her  hus- 
band. To  herself  her  excuse  was  necessity.  If  she  had 
given  that  night  the  truest  account  in  her  power  of  what  she 
felt,  she  would  have  said  that  she  was  doing  wrong,  but  that 
she  could  not  help  it.  There  were  limits  to  human  endur- 
ance— a  fact  of  which  Divine  Law,  in  other  matters  besides 
that  of  marriage,  has  not  been  considered  by  the  practice 
(as  apart  from  the  doctrine)  of  Christendom  at  large  to  take 
adequate  account. 


Ill 

IN    SOLUTION 

"\\  7ELL,  you  see,  things  are  rather  in  solution  just  now." 
V  V  Most  people  have  a  formula  or  two  by  which  they 
try  to  introduce  some  order  into  the  lumber-room  of  the 
mind.  Such  a  lot  of  things  are  dumped  down  there,  and 
without  a  formula  or  two  they  get  so  mixed.  The  above 
was  Stephen  Aikenhead's  favorite.  Many  of  his  friends 
preferred  to  say  "in  transition."  That  phrase,  he  main- 
tained, begged  the  question.  Perhaps,  after  all  the  talk  and 
all  the  agitation,  nothing  would  be  changed;  the  innovators 
might  be  beaten;  they  often  had  been;  the  mass  of  mankind 
was  very  conservative.  Look  at  the  ebb  and  flow  of  human 
thought,  as  history  recorded  it — the  freedom  of  Athens  and 
the  license  of  Rome  followed  by  the  Dark  Ages — the  Renais- 
sance tamed,  if  not  mutilated,  by  the  Counter-Reformation 
on  the  one  hand  and  the  rigors  of  Puritanism  on  the  other. 
Certainly  the  foundations  of  all  things  were  being,  or  were 
going  to  be,  examined.  But  it  is  one  thing  to  examine 
foundations,  a  different  one  to  declare  and  prove  them  un- 
sound. And  even  when  the  latter  process  has  come  about, 
there  is  the  question — will  you  shore  the  building  up  or  will 
you  pull  it  down?  The  friends  who  favored  "transition" 
often  grew  impatient  with  this  incurable  doubter;  they  were 
as  convinced  that  the  future  was  going  to  be  all  right  and 

21 


MRS.  MAXON    PROTESTS 

going  to  come  very  soon  as  they  were  certain  that  the  present 
was  all  wrong  and  could  not  possibly  resist  the  assault  of 
reason  for  many  years  more.  They  were  sanguine  people, 
apt  to  forget  that,  right  as  they  undoubtedly  were  (in  their 
own  opinion),  yet  the  Englishman  at  least  accords  his  sup- 
port to  progress  only  on  the  definite  understanding  that  it 
shall  be  slow.  "Put  the  brake  on!"  he  urges,  envisaging 
innovation  as  a  galloping  downhill.  Stephen's  friends 
pathetically  pictured  it  as  a  toilsome  assent — toilsome,  yet 
speedily  to  be  achieved  by  gallantly  straining  horses.  No 
need  of  brakes,  though!  Argument  by  metaphor  is  perilous 
either  way. 

In  this  case  the  formula  was  administered  to  Winnie 
Maxon  within  the  space  of  two  hours  after  her  arrival  at 
Shaylor's  Patch.  Stephen's  pretty  house  in  Buckingham- 
shire— it  lay  Beaconsfield  way — took  its  unassuming  title 
presumably  from  a  defunct  Shaylor  and  certainly  from  a 
small  plot  of  grass  which  lay  between  two  diverging  roads 
about  a  hundred  yards  on  the  way  down  to  the  station.  The 
house  was  old,  rambling,  and  low — a  thoroughly  comfort- 
able dwelling.  The  garden  was  fair  to  see,  with  its  roses, 
its  yews,  and  its  one  great  copper-beech,  with  its  spread  of 
smooth  lawn  and  its  outlook  over  a  wide-stretching  valley. 

"A  home  of  peace!"  thought  Winnie,  relaxing  weary  body 
(she  had  packed  that  morning  for  more  than  a  fortnight's 
absence)  and  storm-tossed  mind,  as  she  lay  on  a  long  chair 
under  the  shade  of  the  copper-beech. 

Stephen  sat  opposite  to  her,  a  tall  man  of  three-and-thirty, 
fair,  inclining  to  stoutness,  with  a  crop  of  coarse,  disorderly, 
mouse-colored  hair;  always  and  everywhere  he  wore  large, 
horn-rimmed  spectacles.  He  had  inherited  a  competence 
more  than  merely  sufficient;  he  had  no  profession,  but  wrote 

22 


IN    SOLUTION 

articles  when  the  spirit  moved  him  and  had  them  published 
more  rarely.  At  twenty-two  he  had  married.  It  was  be- 
fore the  days  when  he  began  to  doubt  whether  people  ought 
to — or  anyhow  need — marry,  and  his  union  had  been  so 
happy  that  the  doubt  could  not  be  attributed  to  personal  ex- 
perience. His  wife  was  not  pretty,  but  pleasant-faced  and 
delightfully  serene.  She  had  very  strong  opinions  of  her 
own,  and  held  them  so  strongly  that  she  rarely  argued  and 
was  never  ruffled  in  argument.  If  anybody  grew  hot  over 
a  discussion,  she  would  smile  at  him  and  hand  him  a  flower, 
or  at  appropriate  moments  something  nice  to  eat.  They 
had  one  child,  a  girl  now  ten  years  old,  whom  they  had  just 
sent  to  a  boarding-school. 

It  was  in  connection  with  little  Alice's  being  sent  to  the 
boarding-school  that  the  formula  made  its  appearance. 
Winnie  had  expressed  the  proper  wonder  that  her  parents 
"could  bear  to  part  with  her."  Stephen  explained  that  they 
had  been  actuated  by  a  desire  to  act  fairly  toward  the 
child. 

"  If  I  was  sure  I  was  right,  and  sure  the  ancients  were 
wrong,  I  would  teach  her  myself — teach  her  to  believe  what 
I  believe  and  to  disbelieve  what  they  believe.  But  am  I 
sure  ?  What  do  I  believe  ?  And  suppose  I'm  right,  or  at 
all  events  that  they're  wrong,  most  people  mayn't  think  so 
for  many  years  to  come.  I  should  be  putting  her  against 
the  world,  and  the  world  against  her.  Is  that  fair,  unless 
I'm  bang  sure  ?  Not  everybody  can  be  happy  when  the 
world's  against  them.  I  can't  teach  her  what  I  can't  be- 
lieve, but  why  shouldn't  she  learn  it  from  people  who  can  ? 
She  must  settle  it  in  the  end  for  herself,  but  it  seems  fair  to 
give  her  her  chance  of  orthodoxy.  While  things  are,  as  I 
said,  in  solution — in  a  sort  of  flux,  don't  you  know  ?" 

23 


MRS.  MAXON    PROTESTS 

"What  do  you  mean  by  things  being  in  solution — or  in  a 
flux?" 

The  daughter  of  a  clergyman,  wife  of  Cyril  Maxon  since 
she  was  nineteen,  a  devout  member  of  Attlebury's  flock, 
she  came  quite  fresh  to  the  idea.  In  her  life  and  her  world 
things  had  seemed  tremendously  solid,  proof  against  an 
earthquake! 

"I  suppose  it's  really  been  the  same  in  every  age  with 
thinking  people,  but  it's  more  wide-spread  now,  isn't  it  ? 
It  gets  into  the  newspapers  even!  'Do  we  Believe?'  'Is 
Marriage  a  Failure  ?'  It's  not  the  answers  that  are  most 
significant,  you  know,  but  the  questions." 

"Yes,  I  think  I  see  what  you  mean — partly."     The  words 
came  in  slow,  ruminating  tones.     "  Do  you  go  very  far  ?" 
she  went  on,  in  accents  drolly  apprehensive. 

He  laughed  jovially.  "There  are  no  bombs.  I'm  mar- 
ried to  Tora.  Is  it  terrible  that  I  don't  go  to  church  very 
often  ?  Never,  I'm  bound  to  add  in  candor,  if  I  can 
help  it." 

"I  shall  go  while  I'm  here.  Do  you  think  it  funny  that  I 
should  suddenly  propose  myself  for  a  visit  ?" 

"To  tell  the  truth,  I  didn't  think  Maxon  would  come." 

"Or  that  I  should  come  without  him  ?" 

"We  pictured  you  pretty  extensively  married,  I  confess." 

"So  I  was — so  I  am,  I  mean."  She  remembered  her 
promise;  she  was  not  to  mention  her  great  resolve.  But  it 
struck  her  that  the  pledge  would  be  hard  to  keep.  Already 
the  atmosphere  of  Shaylor's  Patch  suggested  that  her  posi- 
tion was  eminently  one  to  talk  over,  to  discuss  with  an  open- 
minded,  sympathetic  friend,  to  speculate  about  in  all  its 
bearings. 

"But  you  mustn't  think  I'm  absolutely  hidebound,"  she 

24 


IN    SOLUTION 

went  on.  "I  can  think — and  act — for  myself."  She  was 
skirting  the  forbidden  ground. 

"I'm  glad  of  it.  Is  Maxon  ?"  There  was  a  humorous 
twinkle  behind  his  spectacles. 

"Why  are  we  to  talk  of  Cyril  when  I've  just  begun  my 
holiday  ?"  Yet  there  was  nothing  else  that  she  really  wanted 
to  talk  about.  Oh,  that  stupid  promise!  Of  course,  she 
ought  to  have  reserved  the  right  to  lay  the  case  before  her 
friends.  But  a  promise  is  a  promise,  however  stupid.  That 
certainly  would  be  Cyril's  view;  and  it  was  hers.  Was  it, 
she  wondered,  the  Shaylor's  Patch  view  ?  Or  might  a  ques- 
tion of  ethics  like  that  be  to  some  extent  "in  solution"  ? 

"  He  thinks  me  an  awful  reprobate  ?"  Stephen  asked. 

She  nodded,  smiling. 

"So  they  do  down  here,  but  my  friends  in  London  call 
me  a  very  mild  specimen.  I  expect  some  of  them  will  turn 
up  while  you're  here,  and  you'll  be  able  to  see  for  your- 
self." 

"You  don't  mind  being  thought  a  reprobate  down  here  ?" 

"Why  should  I  ?  I  don't  want  their  society,  any  more 
than  they  want  mine.  I'm  quite  well  off,  and  I've  no  ambi- 
tions." He  laughed.  "I'm  ideally  placed  for  defying  the 
world,  if  I  want  to.  It  really  needs  no  courage  at  all,  and 
would  bring  me  no  martyr's  crown." 

"You  mean  it  would  be  different  if  you  had  to  work  for 
your  living  ?" 

"Might  be — or  if  I  wanted  to  go  in  for  public  life,  or  any- 
thing of  that  kind." 

"Or  if  you  were  a  woman  ?" 

"Well,  if  I  were  a  woman  who  was  sensitive  about  what 
society  at  large  thought  of  her.  That's  one  of  the  reasons 
why  I  don't  preach  my  views  much.  It's  all  very  well  for 

25 


MRS.  MAXON    PROTESTS 

me,  but  my  converts,  if  any,  might  end  by  thinking  they 
were  paying  too  dear,  while  the  prophet  got  off  for  noth- 
ing." 

He  had  a  book,  she  a  newspaper.  With  an  easy  absence 
of  ceremony  he  began  to  read;  but  she  left  her  paper  lying 
on  the  ground  beside  her,  and  let  her  thoughts  play  as  they 
would  on  the  great  change  which  had  come  over  her  life, 
and  on  what  it  would  mean  to  her  if  it  persisted,  as  she  was 
resolute  that  it  should. 

"I  can  think — and  act — for  myself,"  she  had  said.  Per- 
haps, but  both  would  be  new  and  strange  exercises.  She 
had  walked  on  lines  very  straightly  ruled;  she  had  moved 
to  orders  peremptorily  conveyed.  A  fear  mingled  with  the 
relief  of  emancipation.  They  say  that  men  who  have  been 
long  in  prison  are  bewildered  by  the  great,  free,  bustling 
world.  It  may  be  as  true  of  prisons  of  the  mind  as  of  the 
Bastille  itself. 

Stephen  interrupted  his  reading  to  give  another  statement 
of  his  attitude.  "It's  like  the  two  horses — the  one  in  the 
stable-yard  and  the  wild  one.  The  one  gets  oats  and  no 
freedom,  the  other  freedom  and  no  oats.  Now  different 
people  put  very  various  values  on  freedom  and  on  oats. 
And,  at  any  rate,  the  wild  horse  must  have  fodder  of  some 
kind." 

His  face  vanished  behind  the  book  again,  and  she  heard 
him  chuckling  merrily  over  something  in  it.  If  he  did  not 
get  oats,  he  certainly  seemed  to  thrive  excellently  on  such 
other  fodder  as  he  found.  But,  then,  it  was  undeniable  that 
Cyril  Maxon  throve  equally  well — successful,  rising,  with 
no  doubts  as  to  his  own  opinions  or  his  own  conduct.  Or 
had  her  resolve  shaken  him  into  any  questionings  ?  He  had 
shown  no  signs  of  any  when  she  parted  from  him  that  morn- 

26 


IN    SOLUTION 

ing.  "  I  shall  be  glad  to  see  you  back  at  the  end  of  your 
fortnight,"  he  had  said.  The  words  were  an  order. 

Tora  Aikenhead,  on  her  way  to  the  rose-beds,  with  a  bas- 
ket and  scissors  in  her  hand,  came  up  to  them. 

"Resting?"  she  asked  Winnie  in  her  low,  pleasant  voice. 

In  the  telegram  in  which  she  had  proposed  her  visit,  Win- 
nie had  said  that  she  was  a  little  "knocked  up"  with  the 
gayeties  of  town,  but  she  fancied  that  her  hostess's  question 
referred,  though  distantly,  to  more  than  these,  that  she  had 
discerned  traces  of  distress,  the  havoc  wrought  by  the  pass- 
ing of  a  storm. 

"Beautifully!"  Winnie  answered,  with  a  grateful  smile. 

"Dick  Dennehy  is  week-ending  with  Godfrey  Ledstone, 
and  they're  coming  to  lunch  and  tennis  to-morrow;  and 
Mrs.  Lenoir  is  motoring  down  to  lunch,  too,"  Tora  went  on 
to  her  husband. 

"Mrs.  Lenoir  ?"  He  looked  up  from  his  book  with  that 
droll  twinkle  behind  his  big  spectacles  again. 

"Yes.  Quite  soon  again,  isn't  it?  She  must  like  us, 
Stephen." 

Stephen  laughed.  His  wife  had  not  in  the  least  under- 
stood the  cause  of  the  twinkle.  She  would  not,  he  reflected. 
It  never  occurred  to  her  that  any  human  being  could  object 
to  meeting  any  other,  unless,  indeed,  actual  assault  and 
battery  were  to  be  feared.  But  Stephen  was  awake  to  the 
fact  that  it  might  be  startling  to  Winnie  Maxon  to  meet 
Mrs.  Lenoir — if  she  knew  all  about  her.  Naturally  he  at- 
tributed rigid  standards  to  Mrs.  Cyril  Maxon,  in  spite  of 
her  proud  avowal  of  open-mindedness,  which,  indeed,  had 
seemed  to  him  rather  amusing  than  convincing. 

"Ledstone's  our  neighbor,"  he  told  Winnie,  "the  only 
neighbor  who  really  approves  of  us.  He's  taken  a  cottage 
3  27 


MRS.  MAXON    PROTESTS 

here  for  the  summer.  You'll  like  him;  he's  a  jolly  fellow. 
Dennehy's  an  Irish  London  correspondent  to  some  paper  or 
other  in  the  States,  and  a  Fenian,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing, 
you  know.  Very  good  chap." 

"Well,  I  asked  no  questions  about  your  guests,  but  since 
you've  started  posting  me  up — who's  Mrs.  Lenoir  ?" 

"Tora,  who  is  Mrs.  Lenoir?" 

"Who  is  she?  Who  should  she  be?  She's  just  Mrs. 
Lenoir." 

Tora  was  obviously  rather  surprised  at  the  question,  and 
unprovided  with  an  illuminating  answer.  But  then  there 
are  many  people  in  whose  case  it  is  difficult  to  say  who  they 
are,  unless  a  repetition  of  their  names  be  accepted  as 
sufficient. 

"I  must  out  with  it.  Mrs.  Lenoir  was  once  mixed  up  in 
a  very  famous  case — she  intervened,  as  they  call  it — and  the 
case  went  against  her.  Some  people  thought  she  was  un- 
justly blamed  in  that  case,  but — well,  it  couldn't  be  denied 
that  she  was  a  plausible  person  to  choose  for  blame.  It's 
all  years  ago — she  must  be  well  over  fifty  by  now.  I  hope 
you — er — won't  feel  it  necessary  to  have  too  long  a  memory, 
Winnie  ?" 

"I  don't  exactly  see  why  it's  necessary  to  tell  at  all,"  re- 
marked Tora.  "Why  is  it  our  business  ?" 

"But  Winnie  does  ?"  The  question  was  to  Winnie  her- 
self. 

"  I  know  why  you  told  me,  of  course,"  she  answered.  She 
hesitated,  blushed,  smiled,  and  came  out  with,  "But  it 
doesn't  matter." 

"Of  course  not,  dear,"  remarked  Tora,  as  she  went  off  to 
her  roses. 

All  very  well  to  say  "Of  course  not,"  but  to  Mrs.  Cyril 

28 


IN    SOLUTION 

Maxon  it  was  not  a  case  of  "of  course"  at  all.  Quite  the 
contrary.  The  concession  she  had  made  was  to  her  a  nota- 
ble one.  She  had  resolved  to  fall  in  with  the  ways  of  Shay- 
lor's  Patch  in  all  possible  and  lawful  matters — and  it  was 
not  for  her,  a  guest,  to  make  difficulties  about  other  guests, 
if  such  a  thing  could  possibly  be  avoided.  None  the  less, 
she  was  much  surprised  that  Mrs.  Lenoir  should  be  coming 
to  lunch — she  had,  in  fact,  betrayed  that.  In  making  no 
difficulties  she  seemed  to  herself  to  take  a  long  step  on  the 
road  to  emancipation.  It  was  her  first  act  of  liberty;  for 
certainly  Cyril  Maxon  would  never  have  permitted  it.  She 
felt  that  she  had  behaved  graciously;  she  felt  also  that  she 
had  been  rather  audacious. 

Stephen  understood  her  feelings  better  than  his  wife  did. 
He  had  introduced  himself  to  the  atmosphere  he  now 
breathed,  Tora  had  been  bred  in  it  by  a  free-thinking  father, 
who  had  not  Stephen's  own  scruples  about  his  child.  In 
early  days  he  had  breathed  the  air  which  up  to  yesterday  had 
filled  Winnie's  lungs — the  Maxon  air. 

"I  suppose  these  things  are  all  wrong  on  almost  any  con- 
ceivable theory  that  could  apply  to  a  civilized  community," 
he  remarked,  "but  so  many  people  do  them  and  go  scot- 
free  that  I'm  never  inclined  to  be  hard  on  the  unfortunates 
who  get  found  out.  Not — I'm  bound  to  say — that  Mrs. 
Lenoir  ever  took  much  trouble  not  to  be  found  out.  Well, 
if  people  are  going  to  do  them,  it's  possible  to  admit  a  sneak- 
ing admiration  for  people  who  do  them  openly,  and  say 
'You  be  hanged!'  to  society.  You'll  find  her  a  very  intelli- 
gent woman.  She's  still  very  handsome,  and  has  really — 
yes,  really — grand  manners." 

"  I  begin  to  understand  why  you  let  her  down  so  easy," 
said  Winnie,  smiling. 

29 


MRS.  MAXON    PROTESTS 

He  laughed.  "Oh,  well,  perhaps  you're  right  there. 
I'm  human,  and  I  dare  say  I  did  do  a  bit  of  special  plead- 
ing. I  like  her.  She's  interesting." 

"And  nothing  much  matters,  does  it  ?"  she  put  in,  acutely 
enough. 

"Oh,  you  accuse  me  of  that  attitude  ?  I  suppose  you  plaus- 
ibly might.  But  I  don't  admit  it.  I  only  say  that  it's  very 
difficult  to  tell  what  matters.  Not  the  same  thing — surely  ?" 

"It  might  work  out  much  the  same  in — well,  in  conduct, 
mightn't  it  ?  If  you  wanted  to  do  a  thing  very  much, 
couldn't  you  always  contrive  to  think  that  it  was  one  of  the 
things  that  didn't  matter  ?" 

"Why  not  go  the  whole  hog,  and  think  it  the  only  proper 
thing  to  do  ?"  he  laughed. 

She  echoed  his  laugh.  "You  must  let  me  down  easy,  as 
well  as  Mrs.  Lenoir!" 

"I  will,  fair  cousin — and,  on  my  honor,  for  just  as  good 
reasons." 

Stephen  had  enjoyed  his  talk.  It  amused  and  interested 
him  to  see  her  coming,  little  by  little,  timidly,  out  of  her 
— should  he  call  it  sanctuary  or  prison-house  ? — to  see  her 
delicately  and  fearfully  toying  with  ideas  that  to  him  were 
familiar  and  commonplace.  He  marked  an  alertness  of 
mind  in  her,  especially  admiring  the  one  or  two  little  thrusts 
which  she  had  given  him  with  a  pretty  shrewdness.  As  he 
had  said,  he  had  no  itch  to  make  converts;  it  was  not  his 
concern  to  unsettle  her  mind.  But  it  was  contrary  to  all  his 
way  of  thinking  to  conceal  his  own  views  or  to  refuse  to  ex- 
change intelligent  opinions  because  his  interlocutor  stood 
at  a  different  point  of  view.  Everybody  stood  at  different 
points  of  view  at  Shaylor's  Patch.  Was  conversation  to  be 
banned  and  censored  ? 

3° 


IN    SOLUTION 

Winnie  herself  would  have  cried  "No"  with  all  her  heart. 
Revelling  in  the  peace  about  her,  in  the  strange  freedom 
from  the  ever-present  horror  of  friction  and  wrangles,  in 
the  feeling  that  at  last  she  could  look  out  on  the  world  with 
her  own  eyes,  no  man  saying  her  nay,  she  reached  out 
eagerly  to  the  new  things,  not  indeed  conceiving  that  they 
could  become  her  gospel,  her  faith,  but  with  a  half-guilty 
appreciation,  a  sense  of  courage  and  of  defiance,  and  a 
genuine  pleasure  in  the  exercise  of  such  wits  as  she  modestly 
claimed  to  possess.  She  had  been  so  terribly  cramped  for 
so  long.  Surely  she  might  play  about  a  little  ?  What  harm 
in  that  ?  It  committed  her  to  nothing. 

As  she  got  into  her  bed,  she  said,  as  a  child  might,  "Oh, 
I  am  going  to  enjoy  myself  here — I'm  sure  I  am!" 

So  it  is  good  to  fall  asleep  with  thanks  for  to-day  and  a 
smile  of  welcome  ready  for  to-morrow. 


IV 

KEEPING   A    PROMISE 

M3DERN  young  women  are  athletic,  no  doubt  with  a 
heavy  balance  of  advantage  to  themselves,  to  the  race, 
and  to  the  general  joyousness  of  things.  Yet  not  all  of  them; 
there  are  still  some  whose  strength  is  to  sit  still,  or  at  least 
whose  attraction  is  not  to  move  fast,  but  rather  to  exhibit 
a  languid  grace,  to  hint  latent  forces  which  it  is  not  the  first- 
comer's  lot  to  wake.  There  is  mystery  in  latent  forces; 
there  is  a  challenge  in  composed  inactivity.  Not  every 
woman  who  refuses  to  get  hot  is  painted;  not  every  woman 
who  declines  to  scamper  about  is  tight-laced.  The  matter 
goes  deeper.  This  kind  is  not  idle  and  lazy;  it  is  about  its 
woman's  business;  it  is  looking  tranquil,  reserved,  hard  to 
rouse  or  to  move — with  what  degree  of  consciousness  or  of 
unconsciousness,  how  far  by  calculation,  how  far  by  instinct, 
Heaven  knows!  Of  this  kind  was  Winnie  Maxon.  Though 
she  was  guiltless  of  paint  or  powder,  though  her  meagre 
figure  could  afford  to  laugh  at  stays  (although  arrayed  in 
them),  yet  it  never  occurred  to  her  to  scamper  about  a  lawn- 
tennis  court  and  get  very  hot  and  very  red  in  the  face,  as  Tora 
Aikenhead  was  doing,  at  half-past  eleven  on  a  Sunday  morn- 
ing. (Be  it  observed,  for  what  it  is  worth,  that  in  spite  of 
her  declaration  of  the  day  before  Winnie  had  not  gone  to 
church.) 

32 


KEEPING    A    PROMISE 

Tora's  partner  was  her  husband;  she  was  very  agile,  he 
was  a  trifle  slow,  but  a  good  placer.  Against  them  Dennehy 
rather  raged  than  played — a  shortish,  thick-built  man  of  five- 
and-thirty,  with  bristling,  sandy  hair  and  a  mustache  of  like 
hue,  whose  martial  upward  twist  was  at  the  moment  subdued 
by  perspiration.  He  could  not  play  anywhere  —  and  he 
would  play  at  the  net.  Yet  the  match  was  a  tight  one,  for 
his  partner,  Godfrey  Ledstone,  was  really  a  player,  though 
he  was  obviously  not  taking  this  game  seriously.  A  brill- 
iant shot  at  critical  moments,  with  a  laughing  apology  for 
such  a  fluke,  betrayed  that  he  was  in  a  different  class  from 
his  companions. 

The  game  ended  in  the  defeat  of  the  Aikenheads,  and  the 
players  gathered  round  Winnie.  Dennehy  was  grossly  tri- 
umphant, and  raged  again  when  his  late  opponents  plainly 
told  him  that  his  share  in  the  victory  was  less  than  nothing. 
He  declared  that  the  "moral  effect"  of  his  presence  at  the 
net  was  incalculable. 

"That  quality  is  certainly  possessed  by  your  strokes," 
Stephen  admitted. 

Under  cover  of  the  friendly  wrangle,  Winnie  turned  to 
Ledstone,  who  had  sat  down  beside  her.  She  found  him 
already  regarding  her;  a  consciousness  that  she  desired  his 
attention  made  her  flush  a  little. 

"How  easily  you  play!  I  mean,  you  make  the  game  look 
so  easy." 

"Well,  if  I  want  to  impress  the  gallery,  old  Dennehy 's 
rather  a  useful  partner  to  have,  isn't  he  ?  But  I  did 
use  to  play  a  good  bit  once,  before  I  went  into  busi- 
ness." 

"No  time  now  ?  I'm  told  you  go  to  London  as  much  as 
three  days  a  week!" 

33 


MRS.  MAXON    PROTESTS 

"I  see  Mrs.  Aikenhead's  been  giving  me  away.  Did  she 
tell  you  anything  else  ?" 

"Well,  she  told  me  what  you  looked  like,  but  I  know  that 
for  myself  now." 

"  Did  she  do  me  justice,  Mrs.  Maxon  ?"  He  had  pleasant 
blue  eyes,  and  used  them  to  enhance  the  value  of  his  words. 

"I  don't  want  to  put  you  and  her  at  loggerheads,"  smiled 
Winnie. 

"Ah,  you  mean  she  didn't?" 

Winnie's  smile  remained  mysterious.  Here  was  a  game 
that  she  could  play,  though  she  had  perforce  abstained  from 
it  for  many,  many  days.  It  is  undeniable  that  she  came  back 
to  it  with  the  greater  zest. 

"I  shall  ask  Mrs.  Aikenhead  what  she  said." 

"That  won't  tell  you  what  I  think  about  it." 

"Then  how  am  I  to  find  out  ?" 

"  Is  it  so  important  to  you  to  know  ?" 

"I  feel  just  a  sort  of — well,  mild  interest,  I  must  admit." 
There  seemed  ground  for  supposing  that  lawn-tennis  was 
not  the  only  game  that  he  had  played,  either. 

"Mere  good  looks  don't  go  for  very  much  in  a  man,  do 
they  ?"  said  Winnie. 

"There  now,  if  you've  given  me  anything  with  one  hand, 
you've  taken  it  away  with  the  other!" 

"What  is  your  business,  Mr.  Ledstone  ?" 

"I  draw  designs — decorative  designs  for  china  and  bro- 
cades, and  sometimes  fans.  I  can  do  a  lot  of  my  work  down 
here — as  Mrs.  Aikenhead  might  have  told  you,  instead  of 
representing  me  as  a  lazy  dog,  doing  nothing  four  days  in  the 
week." 

"I've  been  led  into  doing  you  an  injustice,"  Winnie  ad- 
mitted with  much  gravity.  "Is  it  a  good  business  ?" 

34 


KEEPING    A    PROMISE 

"Grossly  underpaid,"  he  laughed. 

"And  I  may  have  eaten  off  one  of  your  plates  ?" 

"Yes,  or  sat  on  one  of  my  cushions,  or  fanned  yourself 
with  one  of  my  fans." 

"It  seems  to  serve  as  an  introduction,  doesn't  it  ?" 

"Oh,  more  than  that,  please!  I  think  it  ought  to  be  con- 
sidered as  establishing  a  friendship." 

The  other  three  had  strolled  off  toward  the  house.  Win- 
nie rose  to  follow  them.  As  Ledstone  took  his  place  by  her 
side  she  turned  her  eyes  on  him. 

"I  haven't  so  many  friends  as  to  be  very  difficult  about 
that,"  she  said,  with  a  note  of  melancholy  in  her  voice. 

The  hint  of  sadness  came  on  the  heels  of  her  raillery  with 
sure  artistic  effect.  Yet  it  was  genuine  enough.  The  few 
minutes  of  forgetfulness — of  engrossed  satisfaction  in  her 
woman's  wit  and  wiles — were  at  an  end.  Few  friends  had 
she  indeed!  She  could  reckon  scarcely  one  intimate  outside 
Shaylor's  Patch  itself.  Being  Mrs.  Cyril  Maxon  was  an 
exacting  life;  it  limited,  trammelled,  almost  absorbed. 
Husbands  are  sometimes  jealous  of  woman-friends  hardly 
less  than  of  men.  Cyril  was  one  of  these. 

Ledstone's  vanity  was  flattered,  his  curiosity  piqued. 
The  hint  of  melancholy  added  a  spice  of  compassion.  His 
susceptible  temperament  had  material  enough  and  to  spare 
for  a  very  memorable  first  impression  of  Mrs.  Maxon. 
Though  still  a  young  man — he  was  no  more  than  seven-and- 
twenty — he  was  no  novice  either  in  the  lighter  or  in  the  more 
serious  side  of  love-making;  he  could  appreciate  the  impres- 
sion he  received  and  recognize  the  impression  he  made. 

It  is  to  the  credit  of  Mrs.  Maxon's  instinctively  cunning 
reserve  that  as  they  walked  back  to  the  house  he  still  felt 
more  certain  that  he  wanted  to  please  her  than  that  he  had 

35 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

already  done  it  to  any  considerable  extent.  The  reserve  was 
not  so  much  in  words — she  had  let  her  frank  chaff  show 
plainly  enough  that  she  liked  her  companion;  it  lay  rather 
in  manner  and  carriage.  Only  on  the  hint  of  melancholy — 
only  that  once — had  she  put  her  eyes  to  any  significant  use. 
He  was  conscious  of  having  made  greater  calls  on  his.  That 
was  right  enough;  he  was  the  man,  and  he  was  a  bachelor. 
Ledstone  could  not  be  charged  with  an  exaggerated  rever- 
ence for  marriage,  but  he  did  know  that  he  paid  a  married 
woman  a  poor  compliment  if  he  assumed  beforehand  that 
she  would  underrate  the  obligation  of  her  status. 

When  they  entered  the  long,  low,  panelled  parlor  that 
gave  on  to  the  garden,  Mrs.  Lenoir  had  already  arrived  and 
was  sitting  enthroned  in  the  middle  of  the  room;  she  had  a 
knack  of  investing  with  almost  regal  dignity  any  seat  she 
chanced  to  occupy.  She  was  a  tall  woman  of  striking  ap- 
pearance, not  stout,  but  large  of  frame,  with  a  quantity  of 
white  hair  (disposed  under  an  enormous  black  hat),  a  pale 
face,  dark  eyes,  and  very  straight,  dark  eyebrows.  She  had 
long,  slim  hands  which  she  used  constantly  in  dramatic  gest- 
ure. Stephen  Aikenhead  had  credited  her  with  a  "really 
grand"  manner.  It  was  possible  to  think  it  just  a  trifle  too 
grand,  to  find  in  it  too  strong  a  flavor  of  condescension  and 
of  self-consciousness.  It  might  be  due  to  the  fact  that  she 
had  been  in  her  own  way  almost  an  historical  figure — and 
had  certainly  mingled  with  people  who  were  historical.  Or 
it  was  possible  to  see  in  it  an  instinct  of  self-protection,  ex- 
aggerated into  haughtiness,  a  making  haste  to  exact  homage, 
lest  she  should  fail  even  of  respect.  Whatever  its  origin, 
there  it  was,  though  not  in  a  measure  so  strong  as  fatally  to 
mar  the  effect  of  her  beauty  or  the  attraction  of  her  person- 
ality. Save  for  the  hat,  she  was  dressed  very  simply;  nay, 

36 


KEEPING    A    PROMISE 

even  the  hat  achieved  simplicity  when  the  spectator  had  en- 
joyed time  to  master  it.  On  one  hand  she  wore  only  her 
wedding-ring — she  had  married  Mr.  Lenoir  rather  late  in 
life  and  had  now  been  a  widow  for  several  years;  on  the 
other,  a  single  fine  diamond,  generally  considered  to  be  ante- 
Lenoirian  in  date.  Lord  Hurston  was  a  probable  attri- 
bution. 

Winnie  was  at  sea,  but  found  the  breeze  exhilarating  and 
was  not  upset  by  the  motion.  She  was  a  responsive  being, 
taking  color  from  her  surroundings.  A  little  less  exaction 
on  the  part  of  her  husband  might  have  left  her  forever  an 
obedient  wife;  what  a  more  extended  liberty  of  thought,  of 
action,  of  the  exploitation  of  herself  might  do — and  end  in — 
suggested  itself  in  a  vague,  dim  question  on  this  her  first 
complete  day  of  freedom. 

At  lunch  Dick  Dennehy  could  not  get  away  from  his  vic- 
tory at  lawn-tennis.  He  started  on  an  exposition  of  the 
theory  of  the  game.  He  was  heard  in  silence,  till  Tora 
Aikenhead  observed  in  her  dispassionate  tones,  "But  you 
don't  play  at  all  well,  Dick." 

"What!"  he  shouted,  indignantly,  trying  to  twist  up  a 
still  humid  mustache. 

"Theory  against  practice— that's  the  way  of  it  always," 
said  Stephen. 

"Well,  in  a  sense  ye're  right  there,"  Dennehy  conceded. 
"It  needs  a  priest  to  tell  you  what  to  do,  and  a  man  to 
do  it." 

"Let's  put  a  'not'  in  the  first  half  of  the  proposition,"  said 
Ledstone. 

"And  a  woman  in  the  second  half?"  Mrs.  Lenoir  added. 

"That  must  be  why  they  like  one  another  so  much," 
Dennehy  suggested.  "Each  makes  such  a  fine  justification 

37 


MRS.  MAXON    PROTESTS 

for  the  existence  of  the  other.  They  keep  one  another  in 
work!"  He  rubbed  his  hands  with  a  pleasantly  boyish 
laugh. 

"I  always  try  to  be  serious,  though  it's  very  difficult  with 
the  people  who  come  to  my  house."  Stephen  was  hypo- 
critically grave. 

"Ye're  serious  because  ye're  an  atheist,"  observed 
Dennehy. 

"I'm  not  an  atheist,  Dick." 

"The  Pope  'd  call  you  one,  and  that's  enough  for  a  good 
Catholic  like  me.  How  shouldn't  you  behave  yourself 
properly  when  you  don't  believe  that  penitence  can  do  you 
any  good  ?" 

"The  weak  spot  about  penitence,"  remarked  Tora,  "is 
that  it  doesn't  do  the  other  party  any  good." 

Winnie  ventured  a  meek  question:   "The  other  party?" 

"There  always  is  one,"  said  Mrs.  Lenoir. 

Stephen  smiled.  "I  always  like  to  search  for  a  contra- 
dictory instance.  Now,  if  a  man  drinks  himself  to  death, 
he  benefits  the  revenue,  he  accelerates  the  wealth  of  his 
heirs,  promotes  the  success  of  his  rivals,  gratifies  the  enmity 
of  his  foes,  and  enriches  the  conversation  of  his  friends.  As 
for  his  work — if  he  has  any — il  n'y  a  pas  d'homme  neces- 
saire." 

"It  seems  to  me  it  would  be  all  right  if  nobody  wasted 
time  and  trouble  over  stopping  him,"  said  Dennehy — a 
teetotaller,  and  the  next  instant  quaffing  ginger-beer  im- 
moderately. 

"He  would  be  sure  to  be  hurting  somebody,"  said  Mrs. 
Lenoir. 

"And  why  not  hurt  somebody?  I'm  sure  somebody's 
always  hurting  me,"  Dennehy  objected,  hotly.  "How 

38 


JO 


KEEPING    A    PROMISE 

would  the  world  get  on  else  ?  Don't  I  hold  my  billet  only 
till  a  better  man  can  turn  me  out  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  Stephen.  '"The  priest  who  slew  the  slayer, 
and  shall  himself  be  slain' — that  system's  by  no  means 
obsolete  in  modern  civilization." 

"Obsolete!  It's  the  soul  of  it,  its  essence,  its  gospel."  It 
was  Mrs.  Lenoir  who  spoke. 

"A  definition  of  competition  ?"  asked  Stephen. 

"Yes,  and  of  progress — as  they  call  it." 

Tora  Aikenhead  was  consolatory,  benign,  undismayed. 
"To  be  slain  when  you're  old  and  weak — what  of  that?" 

"  But  ye  don't  think  ye're  old  and  weak.  That's  the  shock 
of  it,"  cried  Dennehy. 

"It  is  rather  a  shock,"  Mrs.  Lenoir  agreed.  "The  truth 
about  yourself  is  always  a  shock — or  even  another  person's 
genuine  opinion." 

Winnie  Maxon  remembered  how  she  had  administered  to 
her  husband  his  "awful  facer";  she  recollected  also,  rather 
ruefully,  that  he  had  taken  it  well.  You  always  have  to  hurt 
somebody,  even  when  you  want  so  obvious  a  right  as  free- 
dom! A  definite  declaration  of  incompatibility  must  be 
wounding — at  any  rate,  when  it  is  not  mutual. 

It  is  an  irksome  thing  to  have — nay,  to  constitute  in  your 
own  person — an  apposite  and  interesting  case  and  to  be 
forbidden  to  produce  it.  If  only  Winnie  Maxon  might  lay 
her  case  before  the  company  while  they  were  so  finely  in  the 
mood  to  deal  with  it!  She  felt  not  merely  that  she  would 
receive  valuable  advice  (which  she  could  not  bring  herself 
to  doubt  would  be  favorable  to  her  side),  but  also  that  she 
herself  would  take  new  rank;  to  provide  these  speculative 
minds  with  a  case  must  be  a  passport  to  their  esteem.  Bit- 
terly regretting  her  unfortunate  promise,  she  began  to  ar- 

39 


MRS.  MAXON    PROTESTS 

raign  the  justice  of  holding  herself  bound  by  it,  and  to  ac- 
cuse her  husband's  motives  in  extorting  it.  He  must  have 
wished  to  deprive  her  of  what  she  would  naturally  and 
properly  seek — the  counsel  of  her  friends.  He  must  have 
wanted  to  isolate  her,  to  leave  her  to  fight  her  bitter  battle 
all  alone.  To  chatter  in  public  was  one  thing,  to  consult 
two  or  three  good  friends  surely  another.  Promises  should 
be  kept;  but  should  they  not  also  be  reasonably  interpreted, 
especially  when  they  have  been  exacted  from  such  doubtful 
motives  ? 

Thus  straying,  probably  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  in  the 
mazes  of  casuistry,  the  adventurous  novice  was  rewarded  by 
a  really  brilliant  idea.  Why  should  she  not  put  her  case  in 
general  terms,  as  an  imaginary  instance,  hypothetically  ? 
The  promise  would  be  kept,  yet  the  counsel  and  comfort 
(for,  of  course,  the  counsel  would  be  comfortable)  would  be 
forthcoming.  No  sooner  conceived  than  executed!  Only, 
unfortunately  the  execution  was  attended  with  a  good  deal 
of  confusion  and  no  small  display  of  blushes — a  display  not 
indeed  unbecoming,  but  sadly  compromising.  It  was  just 
as  well  that  they  had  got  to  the  stage  of  coffee  and  the 
parlor-maid  had  left  the  room. 

Dennehy  did  not  find  her  out.  He  was  not  an  observant 
man,  and  he  was  more  interested  in  general  questions  than 
in  individual  persons.  Hence  Winnie  had  the  benefit  of 
listening  to  a  thoroughgoing  denunciation  of  the  course  she 
had  adopted  and  was  resolved  to  maintain.  Kingdoms 
might — and  in  most  cases  ought  to — fall;  that  was  matter  of 
politics.  But  marriage  and  the  family — that  was  matter  of 
faith  and  morals.  He  bade  Winnie's  hypothetical  lady  en- 
dure her  sufferings  and  look  for  her  reward  elsewhere.  At 
the  close  of  his  remarks  Tora  Aikenhead  smiled  and  offered 

40 


KEEPING    A    PROMISE 

him  a  candied  apricot.  He  had  certainly  spoken  rather 
hotly. 

Stephen  guessed  the  truth,  and  it  explained  what  had 
puzzled  him  from  the  first — the  sudden  visit  of  his  cousin, 
unaccompanied  by  her  husband.  He  had  suspected  a  tiff; 
but  he  had  not  divined  a  rupture.  He  was  surprised  at 
Winnie's  pluck;  it  must  be  confessed  that  he  was  also  rather 
staggered  at  being  asked  to  consider  Cyril  Maxon  as  quite 
so  impossible  to  live  with.  However,  Winnie  ought  to  know 
best  about  that. 

"  Oh,  come,  Dick,  there  are  limits — there  must  be.  You 
may  be  bound  to  take  the  high  line,  but  the  rest  of  us  are 
free  to  judge  cases  on  the  merits.  At  this  time  of  day  you 
can't  expect  women  to  stand  being  sat  upon  and  squashed 
all  their  lives." 

Godfrey  Ledstone  had  not  talked  much.  Now  he  came 
forward  on  Winnie's  side. 

"A  man  must  appreciate  a  woman,  or  how  can  he  ask  her 
to  stay  with  him  ?" 

"I  don't  see  why  she  shouldn't  do  as  she  likes,"  said  Tora. 
"Especially  as  you  put  a  case  where  there  are  no  children, 
Winnie." 

Mrs.  Lenoir  was  more  reserved.  "Let  her  either  make 
up  her  mind  to  stand  everything  or  not  to  stand  it  at  all  any 
more.  Because  she'll  never  change  a  man  like  that." 

Only  one  to  the  contrary — and  he  a  necessarily  prejudiced 
witness!  She  claimed  Mrs.  Lenoir  for  her  side,  in  spite  of 
the  reserve.  The  other  three  were  obviously  for  her.  Win- 
nie was  glad  that  she  had  put  her  case.  Not  only  was  she 
comforted;  somehow  she  felt  more  important.  No  longer 
a  mere  listener,  she  had  contributed  to  the  debate.  She 
would  have  felt  still  more  important  had  she  been  free  to 

41 


MRS.  MAXON    PROTESTS 

declare  that  it  was  she  herself  who  embodied  the  matter  at 
issue. 

For  such  added  consequence  she  had  not  long  to  wait. 
After  the  guests  had  gone,  Stephen  Aikenhead  came  to  her 
in  the  garden. 

"I  don't  want  to  pry  into  what's  not  my  business,  but  I 
think  some  of  us  had  an  idea  that — well,  that  you  were  talk- 
ing about  yourself,  really,  at  lunch.  Don't  say  anything  if 
you  don't  want  to.  Only,  of  course,  Tora  and  I  would  like 
to  help." 

She  looked  up  at  him,  blushing  again.  "I  promised  not 
to  tell.  But  since  you've  guessed — " 

"I'm  awfully  sorry  about  it." 

"At  least,  I  promised  not  to  tell  till  it  was  settled.  Well — 
it  is  settled.  So  I've  not  broken  the  promise,  really." 

Stephen  did  not  think  it  necessary — or  perhaps  easy — to 
pass  judgment  on  this  point. 

"At  any  rate,  it's  much  better  we  should  know,  I  think. 
I'm  sure  you'll  find  Tora  able  to  help  you  now." 

She  was  not  thinking  of  Tora — nor  of  Dennehy's  tirade, 
nor  even  of  Mrs.  Lenoir's  reserve. 

"Do  you  think  Mr.  Ledstone — guessed  ?" 

Stephen  smiled.  "He  took  a  very  definite  stand  on  the 
woman's  side  when  you  put  your  parable.  I  should  say  it's 
probable  that  he  guessed." 

Thus  it  befell  that  the  secret  leaked  out,  though  the 
promise  was  kept;  and  Winnie  found  herself  an  object  of 
sympathy  and  her  destinies  a  matter  of  importance  at 
Shaylor's  Patch.  It  is  perhaps  enough  to  say  that  she  would 
have  been  behaving  distinctly  well  if,  for  the  sake  of  a 
scrupulous  interpretation  of  her  promise,  she  had  foregone 
these  consolations.  They  were  very  real  and  precious. 

42 


KEEPING    A    PROMISE 

They  negatived  the  doleful  finality  which  she  had  set  to  her 
life  as  a  woman.  They  transformed  her  case;  instead  of  a 
failure,  it  became  a  problem.  A  little  boldness  of  vision,  a 
breath  of  the  free  air  of  Shaylor's  Patch,  a  draught  of  the 
new  wine  of  speculation — and  behold  the  victim  turned 
experimentalist! 


THE   GREAT  ALLIES 

ALTHOUGH  the  Reverend  Francis  Attlebury  was 
f\  vowed  in  his  soul  to  celibacy  and  had  never  so  much 
as  flirted  since  he  took  his  degree  at  Oxford  twenty-three 
years  ago,  he  had  more  knowledge  of  the  mind  of  woman 
than  most  married  men  pleasurably  or  painfully  achieve. 
Women  came  to  him  with  their  troubles,  their  grievances, 
even  sometimes  their  sins;  it  was  no  more  his  business  to 
pooh-pooh  the  grievances  than  to  extenuate  the  sins;  one 
does  not  carry  a  cross  the  more  cheerfully  or,  as  a  rule,  any 
farther  because  a  bystander  assures  one  that  it  is  in  reality 
very  light. 

He  was  a  tall,  stout  man — a  grievance  of  his  own  was  that 
he  looked  abominably  well-fed  in  spite  of  constant  self-denial 
— and  possessed  a  face  of  native  and  invincible  joviality. 
He  was  looking  quite  jovial  now  as  he  listened  to  Cyril 
Maxon,  agreed  that  he  had  been  shamefully  used,  and  con- 
cluded in  his  own  mind  that  if  the  negotiations  were  to  be 
carried  on  in  that  spirit  they  might  just  as  well  not  be  ini- 
tiated at  all.  The  thing  was  not  to  prove  how  wrong  she 
had  been  in  going,  but  to  get  her  back.  She  was  more  likely 
to  come  back  if  it  were  conceded  to  her  that  she  had  at  least 
a  fair  excuse  for  going.  Would  Cyril  Maxon  ever  make 
such  a  concession — or  let  somebody  make  it  for  him  ? 

44 


'ON    MY    HONOR,    I    DON'T    UNDERSTAND 


THE    GREAT   ALLIES 

The  two  men  were  old  and  intimate  friends;  moreover, 
Maxon  was  even  eager  to  acknowledge  an  authority  in 
Attlebury's  office,  as  well  as  a  confidence  in  his  personal 
judgment. 

"You  won't  make  her  think  she  was  always  wrong  by 
proving  that  you  were  always  right,  Cyril." 

"Am  I  to  say  I  was  wrong  where  I  know  I  was  right  ?" 

"You've  probably  said  you  were  right  already.  Need  you 
repeat  it  ?" 

"I'm  ready  to  forgive  her — absolutely  and  unreservedly." 

"Would  you  go  a  little  further — do  something  rather 
harder  ?  Accept  forgiveness  ?"  The  diplomatist  smiled. 
"Conditional  forgiveness  we  might  call  it,  perhaps.  For- 
giveness in  case  there  might  be  anything  for  her  to  for- 
give ?" 

Maxon  broke  out  in  natural  impatience  at  the  incom- 
prehensible. "On  my  honor,  I  don't  understand  what  she's 
got  to  complain  of.  I  took  her  from  a  poor  home,  I've  given 
her  every  luxury,  she  shares  my  career — I  needn't  use  mock 
modesty  with  you,  Frank — I've  given  her  absolute  fidelity — " 
He  ended  with  a  despairing  wave  of  his  hands. 

Attlebury  neither  argued  nor  rebuked.  "Is  there  any- 
body who  has  influence  with  her — whom  she  likes  and  relies 
on?" 

"  I  should  hate  anybody  else  being  dragged  into  it — except 
you,  of  course.  I  asked  her  to  come  to  you." 

"Oh,  I  know  I'm  suspect.  I  should  be  no  good."  He 
smiled  contentedly.  "Nobody  you  can  think  of?" 

"Well,  the  man  she  consulted  about  it  was  Hobart  Gay- 
nor."  His  tone  was  full  of  grudging  dislike  of  such  a  con- 
sultation. 

"Hobart  Gaynor  ?  Yes,  I  know  him.  Not  a  bad  choice 

45 


MRS.  MAXON    PROTESTS 

of  hers,  Cyril,  if  she  felt  she  had  to  go  to  some  one.     Not 
quite  our  way  of  thinking,  but  a  very  good  fellow." 

"Why  is  he  to  poke  his  nose  into  my  affairs  ?" 

"Come,  come,  she  poked  her  pretty  nose  into  his  office,  no 
doubt,  and  probably  he'd  much  rather  she  hadn't.  I've 
experience  of  ladies  in  distress,  Cyril.  I  am,  in  fact,  as  the 
Great  Duke  said  of  authors — when  he  was  Chancellor  of 
Oxford,  you  know — much  exposed  to  them." 

"I  didn't  come  here  to  discuss  Hobart  Gaynor." 

"I  hope  we  sometimes  do  wiser  things  than  we  come  to 
do — or  what's  the  good  of  a  talk  ?  Let's  discuss  Hobart 
Gaynor  in  the  light  of,  say,  an  ambassador  or  a  go- 
between.  You're  looking  very  formidable,  Cyril.  Did  you 
often  look  at  Mrs.  Maxon  like  that  ?  If  so,  I  hope  she'd 
done  something  really  wicked.  Because,  if  she  hadn't,  you 
did." 

For  just  that  moment  the  note  of  rebuke  and  authority 
rang  clear  in  his  voice.  The  next,  he  was  the  friend,  the 
counsellor,  the  diplomatist  again. 

"  Let  Gaynor  go  to  her  with  a  message  of  peace — bygones 
to  be  bygones,  faults  on  both  sides,  a  fresh  start,  and  so  on." 

Cyril  Maxon  had  felt  the  rebuke;  he  bowed  his  head  to  it. 
But  he  fretted  terribly. 

"I  can't  bring  myself  to  speak  to  him  about  it." 

"  Let  me.  She's  your  wife,  you  know.  If  she  went  wrong, 
mightn't  you  feel  that  some  effort  of  yours  would — well, 
have  made  the  difference  ?" 

"What  am  I  to  tell  him  to  say  ?" 

"Let  me  tell  him  what  to  say — you  try  to  honor  my  draft 
when  it's  presented.  Perhaps — God  knows — we're  fighting 
for  her  soul,  Cyril,  and  we  shall  be  asked  how  we've  borne 
ourselves  in  the  fight,  sha'n't  we  ?" 

46 


THE    GREAT    ALLIES 

Cyril  Maxon  was  always  ready  to  own  that  he  might  have 
been  wrong — to  own  it  to  God  or  to  God's  representative; 
he  hated  owning  it  to  a  fellow-creature  uninvested  with  pre- 
rogatives. Attlebury  had  skilfully  shifted  the  venue  and 
changed  the  tribunal.  A  man  may  be  sure  he  is  right  as 
against  his  wife — or  vice  versa.  Who  dares  enter  an  un- 
qualified 'Not  Guilty'  before  High  Heaven's  Court  ?  There 
some  count  in  the  indictment  is  sure  to  be  well  laid  and  well 
proven. 

"I  think  I  know  my  faults,"  he  said,  in  a  complacent 
humility. 

Attlebury's  smile  became  more  jovial  still.  "O  learned 
gentleman!" 

The  disciple  still  held  the  natural  man  under  control. 
Maxon  smiled,  if  sourly. 

"I  may  have  been  exacting." 

"You  may  have  been  an  ass,"  sprang  to  the  clergyman's 
lips,  but  stayed  unuttered.  "Allowances,  Cyril,  allow- 
ances!" he  murmured,  gently.  "We  all  have  to  work 
through  allowances." 

"  Do  as  you  like,  Frank.  I  want  the  thing  put  straight. 
You  know  I  do.  I  think  I  ought  to  have  from  her  an  ex- 
pression of — well,  of  regret." 

"Won't  coming  back  convey  it?"  Attlebury  smiled. 
"In  fact,  rather  forcibly?" 

Left  alone,  the  priest  indulged  himself  in  a  bout  of  one  of 
his  diversions — the  contemplation  of  the  folly  of  his  disciples. 
Not  folly  in  believing  in  him  and  his  authority — on  that  he 
was  unimpeachably  sincere.  What  moved  his  satiric  vein 
was  that  they  all  had  to  be  gulled — and  were  all  gullible. 
Before  they  could  be  made  better,  they  all  had  to  be  per- 
suaded that  they  were  better  than  they  were  already.  Mis- 

47 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

erable  offenders?  Certainly.  But  with  "potentialities"? 
Even  more  certainly — and  to  an  unusual  degree.  No  ques- 
tion of  breaking  the  bruised  reed — it  must  be  put  in  splinters. 
And  the  smoking  flax  would  be  revived  with  a  dash  of  kero- 
sene. That  Pope  had  been  entirely  wrong  about  Tann- 
hauser;  he  should  have  told  him  that  his  recent  doings  did 
not  represent  his  true  self.  There  is  joy  over  a  sinner  that 
repenteth.  To  Attlebury  there  was  excitement  in  one  that 
might.  He  knew  it,  he  chided  himself  for  it;  the  glory  was 
not  in  him  or  to  him.  But  the  sporting  instinct  was  deep — 
a  cause  of  sore  penitence  and  of  unregenerate  perpetual 
amusement  at  himself. 

"I'd  like  to  beat  these  free-thinking  beggars!"  A.M.D.G.  ? 
He  prayed  on  his  knees  that  it  might  be  so — and  so  exclu- 
sively— that  the  Reverend  Francis  Attlebury  might  look  for 
and  gain  no  advancement,  no  praise,  not  even  the  praise  of 
God,  but  might  still  say  "I  am  an  unprofitable  servant,"  and 
still  believe  it. 

Besides  all  this — right  down  in  the  depths  of  his  being — 
came  the  primitive  rivalry  of  man  to  man — obstinate  in  the 
heart  of  the  celibate  priest.  "Dear  old  Cyril  is  a  fool  about 
women.  He  doesn't  know  a  thing  about  them."  This 
phase  of  thought  was  sternly  repressed.  It  is  not  a  branch 
of  knowledge  on  which  it  behooves  a  man — not  even  a 
clergyman — to  flatter  himself.  In  the  first  place,  it  is  wrong; 
in  the  second — or  same — place,  dangerous. 

Thus  great  forces  began  to  deploy  into  line  against  little 
Winnie  Maxon,  holding  her  assertion  of  freedom  to  be  grave 
scandal  and  offence.  There  was  the  Family,  embodied  in 
her  lawfully  wedded  husband;  there  was  nothing  less  than 
the  Church  Catholic,  speaking  inexorably  in  Mr.  Attlebury 's 
diplomatic  phrases;  the  Wisdom  of  the  World,  its  logic,  its 

48 


THE    GREAT    ALLIES 

common-sense,  were  to  find  expression — and  where  better 
expression  ? — in  the  sober  friend,  the  shrewd  lawyer,  the 
moderate  man  Hobart  Gaynor.  Could  she  hurl  defiance  at 
these  great  allies  ?  If  she  did,  could  she  look  for  anything 
save  utter  and  immediate  defeat  ?  Just  one  little  woman, 
not  very  strong,  not  very  wise,  with  really  no  case  save  a 
very  nebulous,  hazy  notion  that,  whatever  they  all  said,  it 
was  too  bad  that  she  should  be  miserable  all  her  life!  The 
allies  would  tell  her  that  many  people  were  miserable  all 
their  lives,  but  (they  would  add)  nobody  need  be.  Between 
them  they  had  a  complete  remedy.  Hers  was  the  blame, 
not  theirs,  if  she  would  not  swallow  it. 

At  Shaylor's  Patch,  as  the  summer  days  passed  by  in  sun- 
shine and  warm,  flower-scented  breezes,  where  she  was  com- 
forted, petted,  made  much  of,  where  an  infinite  indulgence 
reigned,  she  was  swallowing  something  quite  different  from 
the  medicine  that  the  allies  proposed  for  her  treatment.  She 
was  drinking  a  heady  new  wine.  She  was  seeing  with  new 
eyes,  travelling  through  new  lands  of  thought  and  of  feeling. 
Her  spirit  rejoiced  as  in  a  great  emancipation — in  being 
allowed,  at  last,  to  move,  to  live,  to  find  itself,  to  meet  its 
fellows,  to  give  thanks  to  a  world  no  longer  its  taskmaster 
but  the  furnisher  of  its  joys  and  the  abetter  in  its  pleasures. 
Of  what  should  she  be  afraid  in  such  a  mood,  of  what 
ashamed  ?  At  Shaylor's  Patch  it  seemed  that  rebellion 
might  not  only  be  admirable,  as  it  often  is,  but  that  it  would 
be  easy — which  it  is  very  seldom. 

For  the  real  Great  World — that  amalgam  of  all  the  forces 
of  the  three  allies,  that  mighty  thing  which  so  envelops 
most  people  from  the  cradle  to  the  grave  that  their  specula- 
tions stray  beyond  it  no  more,  and  often  much  less,  than 
their  actions — this  great  thing  had  hardly  a  representative 

49 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

among  all  who  came  and  went.  These  folks  belonged  to 
various  little  worlds  which  had  got,  as  it  were,  chipped  off 
from  the  big  one  and  had  acquired  little  atmospheres  and 
little  orbits  of  their  own;  from  time  to  time  they  collided 
with  one  another,  but  nobody  minded  that — neither  planet 
seemed  a  pin  better  or  worse  for  the  encounter.  Each  was 
inhabited  by  a  few  teachers  and  a  body  of  disciples  some- 
times not  much  more  numerous;  teachers  and  disciples  alike 
seemed  very  busy,  very  happy,  and  (to  be  frank)  in  many 
cases  agreeably  self-satisfied.  Afraid  of  the  big  world — lest 
they  should  come  into  collision  with  that  and  be  shattered  to 
miserable  atoms  ?  Not  a  bit  of  it!  For,  you  see,  the  big 
world  was,  for  all  its  imposing  and  threatening  appearance, 
really  moribund,  whereas  they  were  young,  vigorous,  grow- 
ing. Paralysis  had  set  in  in  the  Giant's  legs.  He  could  not 
catch  them.  Presently  the  disease  would  reach  his  heart. 
He  would  die,  and  they  would  parcel  out  all  his  possessions. 
Would  they  quarrel  among  themselves,  these  children  of 
progress  ?  Probably  they  would,  as  they  cheerfully  ad- 
mitted. What  matter  ?  Such  quarrels  are  stimulating, 
good  for  brain  and  heart,  illuminating.  Nay,  in  the  end, 
not  quarrels  at  all.  The  only  real  deadly  quarrel  was  with 
the  Giant.  Would  there  be  no  danger  of  a  new  Giant  com- 
ing into  being,  born  of  a  union  of  all  of  them,  just  as  despotic, 
just  as  lethargic,  as  the  old  ?  Into  this  distant  speculation 
they  did  not  enter,  and  their  discreet  forbearance  may  par- 
donably be  imitated  here. 

On  the  whole  they  were  probably  too  hard  on  the  Giant; 
they  did  not  allow  enough  for  the  difficulties  involved  in  be- 
ing so  big,  so  lumbering,  so  complex.  They  girded  at  him 
for  not  trying  every  conceivable  experiment;  he  grumbled 
back  that  he  did  not  want  to  risk  explosion  on  a  large  scale. 

50 


THE    GREAT   ALLIES 

They  laughed  at  him  for  not  running;  a  creature  of  his 
bulk  was  safer  at  a  walk.  They  offered  him  all  manner  of 
new  concoctions;  he  feared  indigestion  on  a  mighty  scale. 
Some  of  them  he  dreaded  and  hated;  at  some  he  was  much 
amused;  for  others  he  had  a  slow-moving  admiration — they 
might  be  right,  he  would  take  a  generation  or  two  to  think 
about  it,  and  let  them  know  in  due  course  through  his  ac- 
credited channels. 

Of  some  of  Stephen  Aikenhead's  friends  it  was  a  little 
difficult  to  think  as  human  beings;  they  seemed  just  em- 
bodied opinions.  Doctor  Johnson  once  observed — and  few 
will  differ  from  him — that  it  would  be  tiresome  to  be  mar- 
ried to  a  woman  who  would  be  forever  talking  of  the  Arian 
heresy.  Mrs.  Danford,  a  bright-eyed,  brisk-moving  woman, 
was  forever  denouncing  boys'  schools.  Dennis  Carriston 
wanted  the  human  race  to  come  to  an  end  and,  consistently 
enough,  bored  existing  members  of  it  almost  to  their  ex- 
tinction or  his  murder.  These  were  of  the  faddists;  but  the 
majority  did  not  fairly  deserve  that  description.  They  were 
workers,  reformers,  questioners,  all  of  them  earnest,  many 
clever,  some  even  humorous  (not  such  a  very  common  thing 
in  reformers),  one  or  two  eminent  in  achievement;  but 
questioners  and  speculators  all  of  them — with  two  notable 
exceptions,  Mrs.  Lenoir  and  Godfrey  Ledstone.  These  two 
had  no  quarrel  with  orthodox  opinion,  but  a  very  great  re- 
spect for  it;  they  would  never  have  thought  of  justifying 
their  deviations  from  orthodox  practice.  They  were  pre- 
pared to  pay  their  fines — if  they  were  caught — and  did  not 
cavil  at  the  jurisdiction  of  the  magistrate. 

Godfrey  Ledstone  would  have  made  a  fine  "man  about 
town,"  that  unquestioning,  untroubled,  heathenish  master 
of  the  arts  and  luxuries  of  life.  Chill  penury — narrow 

51 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

means  and  the  necessity  of  working — limited  his  oppor- 
tunities. Within  them  he  was  faithful  to  the  type  and  obe- 
dient to  the  code,  availing  himself  of  its  elasticities,  careful 
to  observe  it  where  it  was  rigid;  up  to  the  present,  anyhow, 
he  could  find  no  breach  of  it  with  which  to  reproach  himself. 

He  was  committing  no  breach  of  it  now.  Not  to  do  what 
he  was  doing  would  in  his  own  eyes  have  stamped  him  a 
booby,  a  fellow  of  ungracious  manners  and  defective  sensi- 
bilities, a  prude,  and  a  dolt. 

The  breeze  stirred  the  trees;  in  leisurely  fashion,  unel- 
bowed  by  rude  clouds,  there  sank  the  sun;  a  languorous 
tranquillity  masked  the  fierce  struggle  of  beasts  and  men — 
men  were  ceasing  from  their  labor,  the  lion  not  yet  seeking 
his  meat  from  God. 

"I  shall  go  to  my  grave  puzzled  whether  the  profile  or  the 
full  face  is  better." 

She  stirred  lazily  on  her  long  chair,  and  gave  him  the  pro- 
file to  consider  again. 

"Beautiful,  but  cold,  distant,  really  disheartening!" 

"You  talk  just  as  much  nonsense  as  Mrs.  Danford  or 
Mr.  Carriston." 

"Now  let  me  make  the  comparison!     Full  face,  please!" 

"You  might  be  going  to  paint  my  picture.  Now  are  you 
content  ?" 

"I'm  more  or  less  pacified — for  the  moment." 

Stephen  Aikenhead  lounged  across  the  lawn,  pipe  in 
mouth.  He  noticed  the  two  and  shook  his  shaggy  head — 
marking,  questioning,  finding  it  all  very  natural,  seeing  the 
trouble  it  might  bring,  without  a  formula  to  try  it  by — un- 
less, here  too,  things  were  in  solution. 

She  laughed  lightly.  "You  must  be  careful  with  me, 
Mr.  Ledstone.  Remember,  I'm  not  used  to  flattery!" 

52 


THE    GREAT    ALLIES 

"The  things  you  have  been  used  to!  Good  heav- 
ens!" 

"  I  dare  say  I  exaggerate."  Delicately  she  asked  for  more 
pity,  more  approval. 

"I  don't  believe  you  do.  I  believe  there  are  worse  things 
— things  you  can't  speak  of."  It  will  be  seen  that  by  now 
— ten  days  since  Winnie's  arrival — the  famous  promise  had 
been  pitched  most  completely  overboard. 

"Oh,  I  don't  think  so,  really  I  don't.  Isn't  it  a  pretty  sky, 
Mr.  Ledstone  ?" 

"Indeed  it  is,  and  a  pretty  world  too,  Mrs.  Maxon. 
Haven't  you  found  it  so  ?" 

"Why  will  you  go  on  talking  about  me  ?" 

"Mayn't  I  talk  about  the  thing  I'm  thinking  about? 
How  can  I  help  it  ?" 

Her  smile,  indulgent  to  him,  pleaded  for  herself  also. 

"It  is  horribly  hard  not  to,  isn't  it  ?  That's  why  I've  told 
all  about  it,  I  suppose." 

Stephen  Aikenhead,  after  the  shake  of  his  head,  had 
drifted  into  the  house,  seeking  a  fresh  fill  for  his  pipe.  He 
found  the  evening  post  in,  and,  having  nothing  in  the  world 
else  to  do,  brought  out  a  letter  to  Mrs.  Maxon. 

"For  you,"  he  said,  making  a  sudden  and  somewhat  dis- 
concerting appearance  at  her  elbow.  He  puffed  steadily, 
holding  the  letter  out  to  Winnie,  while  he  looked  at  his  friend 
Godfrey  with  a  kindly  if  quizzical  regard. 

"Good  gracious,  Stephen!" 

"Well,  I  always  like  letters  worth  a  'Good  gracious,' 
Winnie." 

"Hobart  Gaynor's  coming  here  to-morrow." 

"Don't  know  the  gentleman.  Friend  of  yours?  Very 
glad  to  see  him." 

53 


MRS.  MAXON    PROTESTS 

"Coming  from — from  Cyril!" 

"Oh!"  The  little  word  was  significantly  drawn  out. 
"That's  another  pair  of  shoes!"  it  seemed  to  say. 

She  sat  up  straight  and  let  her  feet  down  to  the  ground. 

"To  make  me  go  back,  I  suppose!" 

"You  could  hardly  expect  him  not  to  have  a  shot  at  it — 
Cyril,  I  mean." 

Her  eyes  had  been  turned  up  to  Stephen.  In  lowering 
them  to  her  letter  again  she  caught  in  transit  Godfrey  Led- 
stone's  regard.  For  a  second  or  two  the  encounter  lasted. 
She  swished  her  skirt  round — over  an  ankle  heedlessly  ex- 
posed by  her  quick  movement.  Her  glance  fell  to  the  letter. 
Godfrey's  remained  on  her  face — as  well  she  knew. 

"I  must  see  Hobart,  but  I  won't  go  back.  I  won't, 
Stephen." 

"All  right,  my  dear.  Stay  here — the  longer,  the  better 
for  us.  Shall  I  wire  Gaynor  to  come  ?" 

"Will  you?" 

Stephen's  last  glance — considerably  blurred  by  tobacco- 
smoke — was  rather  recognizant  of  fact  than  charged  with 
judgment.  "I  suppose  all  that  will  count,"  he  reflected 
as  he  went  back  once  again  to  the  house.  It  certainly 
counted.  Godfrey  Ledstone  was  doing  nothing  against  the 
code.  All  the  same,  he  was  introducing  a  complication  into 
Winnie  Maxon's  problem.  At  the  start  freedom  for  her  had 
a  negative  content — it  was  freedom  from  things — friction, 
wrangles,  crushing.  Was  that  all  that  freedom  meant? 
Was  not  that  making  it  an  empty,  sterile  thing  ? 

"You'll  be  firm,  Mrs.  Maxon  ?" 

Godfrey  leaned  forward  in  his  chair;  the  change  of  atti- 
tude brought  him  startlingly  near  to  her.  She  sprang 
quickly  to  her  feet,  in  instinctive  retreat. 

54 


THE    GREAT   ALLIES 

"I  must  hear  what  Hobart  has  to  say."  She  met  his  eyes 
once  more,  and  smiled  pleadingly.  He  shrugged  his  shoul- 
ders, looking  sulky.  Her  lips  curved  in  a  broader  smile. 
"That's  only  fair  to  Cyril.  You're  not  coming  to  dinner? 
Then — good-night." 


VI 

FRUIT  OF  THE   TREE 

HOBART  GAYNOR  undertook  his  embassy  with  re- 
luctance. He  was  busily  occupied  over  his  own  affairs 
— he  was  to  be  married  in  a  fortnight — and  he  was  only  un- 
willingly convinced  by  Mr.  Attlebury's  suave  demonstration 
of  where  his  duty  lay,  and  by  the  fine-sounding  promises 
which  that  zealous  diplomatist  made  in  Cyril  Maxon's  name. 
Waiving  the  question  whether  things  had  been  all  wrong  in 
the  past,  Attlebury  gave  a  pledge  that  they  should  be  all 
right  in  the  future — all  that  a  reasonable  woman  could  ask, 
with  an  ample  allowance  for  whims  into  the  bargain.  That 
was  the  offer,  put  briefly.  Gaynor  doubted,  and,  much  as 
he  wished  well  to  Winnie  Maxon,  he  did  not  desire  to  be- 
come in  any  sense  responsible  for  her;  he  did  not  want  to 
persuade  or  to  dissuade.  Indeed,  at  first,  he  would  under- 
take no  more  than  a  fair  presentment  of  Maxon's  invitation. 
Attlebury  persisted;  the  woman  was  young,  pretty,  not  of 
a  very  stable  character;  her  only  safety  was  to  be  with  her 
husband.  Her  old  friend  could  not  resist  the  appeal;  he 
came  into  line.  But  when  he  asked  Cicely  Marshfield's  ap- 
plause for  his  action,  he  could  not  help  feeling  that  she  was, 
to  use  his  own  colloquial  expression,  rather  "sniffy"  about 
it;  she  did  not  appear  fully  to  appreciate  his  obligation  to 
save  Winnie  Maxon. 

56 


FRUIT    OF    THE    TREE 

He  arrived  at  Shaylor's  Patch  before  lunch.  Stephen 
Aikenhead  received  him  with  cordiality,  faintly  tinged,  as  it 
seemed  to  the  visitor,  with  compassion.  Tora's  manner  en- 
forced the  impression;  she  treated  him  as  a  good  man  fore- 
doomed to  failure.  "Of  course,  you  must  have  your  talk 
with  her,"  Stephen  said.  "You  shall  have  it  after  lunch/' 
He  spoke  of  the  talk  rather  as  a  ceremony  to  be  per- 
formed than  as  a  conference  likely  to  produce  practical 
results. 

"I  hope  you'll  back  me  up — and  Mrs.  Aikenhead,  too?" 
said  the  ambassador. 

The  Aikenheads  looked  at  each  other.  Tora  smiled. 
Stephen  rubbed  his  forehead.  At  the  moment  lunch  was 
announced,  and,  the  next,  Winnie  came  into  the  room, 
closely  followed  by  Godfrey  Ledstone. 

When  Hobart  saw  her,  a  new  doubt  smote  him — a  doubt 
not  of  the  success  (he  was  doubtful  enough  about  that  al- 
ready), but  of  the  merits  of  his  mission.  She  looked  a  dif- 
ferent woman  from  the  despairing  rebel  who  had  come  to 
him  in  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields.  Her  eyes  were  bright,  there 
was  color  in  her  cheeks;  her  manner,  without  losing  its  at- 
tractive quietude  and  demureness,  was  gay  and  joyous. 
There  might  be  something  in  what  she  had  said  about  being 
"crushed"  at  her  husband's  house!  It  might  not  be  merely 
a  flourish  of  feminine  rhetoric. 

"The  country  has  done  wonders  tor  you,  Wfnnie,"  he 
said  as  he  shook  hands. 

"I'm  having  a  lovely  rest."  To  Hobart  she  seemed  to 
add,  "Why  need  you  come  and  disturb  it?" 

Another  omen  unfavorable  in  the  envoy's  eyes  was  the 
obvious  pleasure  she  took  in  Ledstone's  presence  and  con- 
versation; and  yet  another  was  the  young  man's  unobtrusive 

57 


MRS.  MAXON    PROTESTS 

but  evident  certainty  that  all  he  said  and  did  would  be  well 
received.  On  Ledstone's  fascinating  attentions,  no  less 
than  on  the  Aikenheads'  affectionate  and  indulgent  friend- 
ship, he  had  to  ask  her  to  turn  her  back.  For  what  ?  A 
parcel  of  promises  made  by  Attlebury  in  Maxon's  name! 
Were  they  of  much  more  practical  value  than  what  god- 
fathers and  godmothers  promise  and  vow  at  a  baby's  chris- 
tening ?  Could  they  change  the  natural  man  in  Maxon  and 
avail  against  his  original  sin  ?  But,  on  the  other  hand,  were 
not  indulgent  friendships  and,  still  more,  charming  atten- 
tions exactly  the  dangers  against  which  he  had  come  to  warn 
her  ?  She  was  young,  pretty,  and  not  of  a  very  stable  char- 
acter— Attlebury's  words  came  back.  The  indulgent  friend- 
ship would  mine  her  defences;  then  the  charming  attentions 
would  deliver  their  assault.  No — Attlebury  was  right,  his 
own  mission  was  right;  but  it  bore  hard  on  poor  Winnie 
Maxon.  A  reluctant  messenger,  a  prophet  too  sensible  of 
the  other  side  of  the  argument  (which  prophets  should  never 
be),  he  found  himself  no  match  for  the  forces  which  now 
moved  and  dominated  Winnie  Maxon.  She  had  been  re- 
solved when  she  was  only  crying  for  and  dreaming  of  liberty. 
Would  she  be  less  resolved  now  that  she  had  tasted  it  and 
was  enjoying  it,  not  amid  frowns  or  reproofs,  but  with  the 
countenance  of  her  friends  and  the  generally,  though  not 
universally,  implied  approval  of  all  the  people  she  met  ? 
Attlebury  could  make  the  disapproval  of  the  great  world 
outside  sound  a  terrible  thing;  sheltered  at  Shaylor's  Patch, 
Winnie  did  not  hear  its  voice.  Attlebury  might  hint  at  ter- 
rible dangers;  such  men  thought  it  "dangerous"  for  a 
woman  to  have  any  pleasure  in  her  life! 

She  listened  to  Hobart  kindly  and  patiently  enough,  but 
always  with  reiterated  shakes  of  her  pretty  head.     At  some 

58 


FRUIT    OF    THE    TREE 

of  the  promises  she  fairly  laughed — they  were  so  entirely 
different  from  the  Cyril  Maxon  she  knew. 

"It's  no  use,"  she  declared.  "Whatever  may  be  right, 
whatever  may  be  wrong,  I'm  not  going  back.  The  law 
ought  to  set  me  free  (this  was  an  outcome  of  Shaylor's 
Patch!).  Since  it  doesn't,  I  set  myself  free — that's  all." 

"  But  what  are  you  going  to  do  ?" 

"  Either  take  a  cottage  down  here  or  a  tiny  flat  in  London." 

"I  didn't  ask  where  you  were  going  to  live,  but  what  you 
were  going  to  do."  Hobart  was  a  patient  man,  but  few 
people's  tempers  are  quite  unaffected  by  blank  failure,  by  a 
serene  disregard  of  their  arguments. 

"Do?  Oh,  I  dare  say  I  shall  take  up  some  movement. 
I  hear  a  lot  about  that  sort  of  thing  down  here,  and  I'm 
rather  interested." 

"Oh,  you're  not  the  sort  of  woman  who  buries  herself  in 
a  movement,  as  you  call  it." 

"I  can  make  friends,  like  other  people,  I  suppose.  I 
needn't  bury  myself." 

"Yes,  you  can  make  friends  fast  enough!  Winnie,  you're 
avoiding  the  crux  of  the  matter." 

"Oh,  you're  back  to  your  dangers!  Well,  I  think  I  can 
trust  myself  to  behave  properly." 

"You  ought  to  be  sure  of  it." 

"Are  you  being  polite  ?" 

"Oh,  hang  politeness!     This  is  a  vital  question  for  you." 

The  color  mounted  in  her  cheeks;  for  the  first  time  she 
showed  some  sign  of  embarrassment.  But  the  embarrass- 
ment and  the  feelings  from  which  it  sprang — those  new 
feelings  of  the  last  fortnight — could  not  make  her  waver. 
They  reinforced  her  resolution  with  all  the  power  of  emo- 
tion. They  made  "going  back"  still  more  terrible,  a  re- 
5  59 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

nunciation  now  as  well  as  a  slavery.  Her  eyes,  though  not 
her  words,  had  promised  Godfrey  Ledstone  that  she  would 
not  go  back.  What  then,  as  Hobart  Gaynor  asked,  was  she 
going  to  do  ?  The  time  for  putting  that  question  had  not 
come.  There  was  the  pleasure  now — not  yet  the  perplexity. 

She  gave  a  vexed  laugh.  "Whether  it's  vital  or  not,  at 
any  rate  it's  a  question  for  me,  as  you  say  yourself,  and  for 
me  only.  And  I  must  risk  it,  Hobart.  After  all,  there  are 
different — well,  ideas — on  that  sort  of  subject,  aren't  there  ?" 
Here  Shaylor's  Patch  showed  its  influence  again. 

"I  rather  wish  you  hadn't  come  to  this  house,"  he  said, 
slowly. 

"I've  been  happier  here  than  anywhere  in  the  world. 
What  have  you  against  it  ?" 

"Well,  I  can't  claim  to  know  much  about  it,  but  don't 
some  queer  people  come  ?" 

"Plenty!"  she  laughed.     "It's  very  amusing." 

He  smiled,  frowned,  looked,  and  indeed  felt,  a  little 
foolish — as  the  average  man  does  when  he  finds  himself 
called  upon  to  take  the  moral  line. 

"  Rather — er — unsettling  ?"  he  hazarded,  lamely. 

"Very  stimulating." 

"Well,  I  can  say  no  more.  I've  done  my  job.  Take 
care  of  yourself,  Winnie." 

"Oh  yes,  I  will;  you  may  be  sure  of  that.  Hobart,  will 
you  tell  Cyril  that  I'm  very,  very  sorry,  and  that  I  hope  he'll 
be  happy,  and  wish  him  splendid  success  and  prosperity  ?" 

"I'll  tell  him — if  you  won't  write  yourself." 

"I  couldn't.  That  would  open  it  all  again.  I'll  write  to 
you,  if  there's  any  business  to  be  settled." 

Hobart  Gaynor,  thinking  over  the  conversation  on  his  way 
back  to  town,  decided  that  Winnie  had  got  on  apace.  Well, 

60 


FRUIT    OF    THE    TREE 

if  she  chose  to  take  her  life  into  her  own  hands,  she  herself 
must  make  the  best  of  it.  He  did  not  pretend  to  feel  quite 
easy — he  could  not  get  Godfrey  Ledstone  out  of  his  head — 
but  he  said  nothing  about  such  apprehensions  when  he  re- 
ported the  failure  of  his  mission.  He  also  delivered  Win- 
nie's message  to  her  husband.  Cyril  Maxon's  lips  set  hard, 
almost  savagely,  over  it.  "We  shall  see,"  he  said.  He 
could  not  prevent  her  from  doing  what  she  had  done,  but 
he  would  not  acknowledge  it  as  setting  up  a  permanent  or 
recognized  state  of  affairs.  For  the  time  disobedient,  Win- 
nie was  still  his  wife.  He  would  not  accept  her  valediction. 
His  house  was  still  open  to  her  and,  after  a  decent  period  of 
penance,  his  heart. 

A  plain  case  of  Stephen  Aikenhead's  "In  solution"! 
What  to  Cyril  was  an  indissoluble  relationship  (and  more 
than  that),  not  even  temporarily  suspended,  but  rather  de- 
fied and  violated,  was  to  his  wife  a  thing  now  at  last — by  her 
final  decision — over  and  done  with  so  far  as  it  affected  her 
position  toward  Cyril  himself.  He  was  out  of  her  life — at 
last.  She  had  her  life — at  last.  Not  quite  entirely  free, 
this  life  she  had  won  by  her  bold  defiance.  She  still  ac- 
knowledged limitations,  even  while  she  nibbled  at  the  fruit 
of  the  Tree  of  Knowledge  that  grew  at  Shaylor's  Patch. 
Yet  how  incomparably  more  free  than  the  old  life!  She  was 
amazed  to  find  with  how  little  difficulty,  with  how  slight  a 
pang,  and  with  how  immense  a  satisfaction  she  had  broken 
the  bond — or  had  broken  bounds,  for  she  felt  remarkably 
like  a  school-boy  on  a  forbidden  spree.  What  great  things 
a  little  courage  will  effect!  How  the  difficulties  vanish  when 
they  are  faced!  Why,  for  five  whole  years,  had  she  not  seen 
that  the  door  was  open  and  walked  out  of  it  ?  Here  she 
was — out!  And  nothing  terrible  seemed  to  happen. 

61 


MRS.  MAXON    PROTESTS 

"Well,  I've  done  it  now  for  good  and  all,"  she  said  to 
Stephen  Aikenhead. 

"Oh  yes,  you've  done  it.  And  what  are  you  going  to  do 
next?" 

"Just  what  Hobart  asked  me!  Why  should  he — or  why 
should  you  ?  If  a  woman  doesn't  marry,  or  becomes  a 
widow,  you  don't  ask  her  what  she's  going  to  do  next! 
Consider  me  unmarried,  or,  if  you  like,  a  widow." 

"That's  all  very  well — excellently  put.  I  am  rebuked!" 
Stephen  smiled  comfortably  and  broadly.  "You  women 
do  put  things  well.  But  may  I  observe  that,  if  you  were 
the  sort  of  woman  you're  asking  me  to  think  about, 
you'd  probably  be  living  pretty  contentedly  with  Cyril 
Maxon  ?" 

The  point  was  presented  plainly  enough  for  her.  She 
smiled  reflectively.  "I  think  I  see.  Yes!" 

"  People  differ  as  well  as  cases." 

She  sat  down  by  him,  much  interested.  They  were,  it 
seemed,  to  talk  about  herself. 

"Hobart  Gaynor's  rather  uneasy  about  me,  I  think." 

"And  you  about  yourself?" 

"No,  I'm  just  rather  excited,  Stephen." 

"  You're  a  small  boat — and  it's  a  big  sea." 

"That's  the  excitement  of  it.  I've  been — landlocked — 
for  years.  Oh,  beached — whatever's  your  best  metaphor 
for  somebody  wasting  all  this  fine  life!" 

"Do  you  suppose  you  made  your  husband  happy?" 

The  question  was  unexpected.  But  there  was  no  side  of 
a  situation  too  forlorn  for  Stephen's  notice. 

"I  really  don't  know,"  said  Winnie.  "I  always  seemed 
to  be  rather — well,  rather  a  minor  interest." 

"I  expect  not — I  really  expect  not,  you  know." 

62 


FRUIT    OF    THE    TREE 

"Supposing  I  was,  or  supposing  I  wasn't — what  does  it 
amount  to  ?" 

"I  was  only  just  looking  at  it  from  his  point  of  view  for  a 
minute." 

"Did  he  make  me  happy  ?" 

"Oh,  certainly  the  thing  wasn't  successful  all  round," 
Stephen  hastily  conceded. 

"He  said  marriage  wasn't  invented  solely  to  make  people 
happy." 

"Well,  I  suppose  he's  got  an  argument  there.  But  you 
probably  thought  that  the  institution  might  chuck  in  a  little 
more  of  that  ingredient  incidentally  ?" 

"  Rather  my  feeling — yes.  You  put  things  well,  too,  now 
and  then,  Stephen." 

"You  suffer  under  the  disadvantage  of  being  a  very  at- 
tractive woman." 

"We  must  bear  our  infirmities  with  patience,  mustn't 
we?" 

She  was  this  evening  in  a  rare  vein  of  excited  pleasure, 
gay,  challenging,  admirably  provoking,  exulting  in  her  free- 
dom, dangling  before  her  own  dazzled  eyes  all  its  possi- 
bilities. Stephen  gave  a  deep  chuckle. 

"I  think  I'll  go  in  and  tell  Tora  that  I'm  infernally  in  love 
with  you,"  he  remarked,  rising  from  his  chair. 

"It  would  be  awfully  amusing  to  hear  what  she  says. 
But — are  you?" 

A  rolling  laugh,  full  of  applause,  not  empty  of  pity,  rum- 
bled over  the  lawn  as  Stephen  walked  back  to  the  house. 

No,  Stephen  was  not  in  love  with  her;  that  was  certain. 
He  admitted  every  conceivable  doubt  as  to  his  duty,  but  har- 
bored none  as  to  his  inclination.  That  trait  of  his  might, 
to  Winnie's  present  mood,  have  been  vexatious  had  he 

63 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

chanced  to  be  the  only  man  in  the  world,  or  even  the  only 
one  in  or  near  Shaylor's  Patch.  Winnie  sat  in  the  twilight, 
smiling  roguishly.  She  had  no  fears  for  herself;  far  less 
had  she  formed  any  designs.  She  was  simply  in  joyful  re- 
bound from  long  suppression.  Her  spirit  demanded  plenty 
of  fun,  with  perhaps  a  spice  of  mischief — mischief  really 
harmless.  So  much  seemed  to  her  a  debt  long  overdue  from 
life  and  the  world.  Yet  peril  was  there,  unseen  by  herself. 
For  there  is  peril  when  longings  for  fun  and  mischief  centre 
persistently  round  one  figure,  finding  in  it,  and  in  it  only, 
their  imagined  realization. 

But  was  peril  the  right  word — was  it  the  word  proper  to 
use  at  Shaylor's  Patch  ?  Being  no  fool,  Stephen  Aikenhead 
saw  clearly  enough  the  chance  that  a  certain  thing  would 
happen — or  was  happening.  But  how  should  this  chance 
be  regarded  ?  The  law — formed  by  this  and  that  influence, 
historical,  social,  and  religious — had  laid  upon  this  young 
woman  a  burden  heavier  than  she  was  able  to  bear.  So 
Stephen  started  his  consideration  of  the  case.  Retort — she 
ought  to  have  been  stronger!  It  did  not  seem  a  very  helpful 
retort;  it  might  be  true,  but  it  led  nowhere.  The  law  then 
had  failed  with  the  young  woman.  Now  it  said,  "Well,  if 
you  won't  do  that,  at  least  you  sha'n't  do  anything  else  with 
my  sanction — and  my  sanction  is  highly  necessary  to  your 
comfort,  certainly  here,  and,  as  a  great  many  people  believe, 
hereafter."  That  might  be  right,  because  it  was  difficult 
to  deny  the  general  proposition  that  laws  ought  to  be  kept, 
under  pain  of  penalties.  Yet  in  this  particular  instance 
there  seemed  something  rather  vindictive  about  it.  It  was 
not  as  if  the  young  woman  wanted  to  rob  churches  or  pick 
pockets  —  things  obviously  offensive  and  hurtful  to  her 
neighbors.  All  she  would  want  (supposing  the  thing  did 

64 


FRUIT   OF    THE    TREE 

happen)  would  be  to  behave  in  a  perfectly  natural  and  nor- 
mal fashion.  All  she  would  be  objecting  to  would  be  a  law- 
enjoined  sterilization  of  a  great  side  of  her  nature.  She 
would  be  wronging  her  husband  ?  If  wrong  there  were, 
surely  the  substantial  wrong  lay  in  deserting  him,  not  in 
making  the  best  of  her  own  life  afterward  ?  She  might 
have  children — would  they  suffer  ?  Living  in  the  social 
world  he  did,  Stephen  could  not  see  that  they  need  suffer 
appreciably;  and  they  were,  after  all,  hypothetical — inserted 
into  the  argument  for  the  sake  of  logical  completeness.  She 
would  wound  other  people's  convictions  and  feelings  ?  No 
doubt,  but  that  argument  went  too  far.  Every  innovator, 
every  reformer,  nay,  every  fighting  politician,  does  as  much. 
The  day  for  putting  ring-fences  round  opinions,  and  threat- 
ening trespassers  with  prosecution,  was  surely  over. 

Well,  then,  would  she  hurt  herself?  The  argument  de- 
scended abruptly  from  the  general  to  the  particular.  It 
left  principle  and  came  to  prudence,  asking  no  longer 
what  she  had  a  right  to  do,  but  what  she  would  be  wise 
to  do  in  her  own  interests.  A  man  may  hold  a  thing 
not  wrong,  and  yet  be  a  fool  if  he  does  it  in  a  place  where 
the  neighbors  are  so  sure  of  its  iniquity  that  they  will  duck 
him  in  the  horse-pond.  But  suppose  him  to  be  a  mighty 
man  of  valor,  whom  nobody  cares  to  tackle!  He  can  snap 
his  fingers  at  the  neighbors  and  follow  his  own  conscience  or 
inclination,  free  from  fear  and  heedless  of  disapprobation. 

"That's  as  far  as  I  can  get,"  Stephen  concluded,  rubbing 
his  forehead,  as  his  habit  was  in  moments  of  meditation. 
The  conclusion  did  not  seem  wholly  moral,  or  wholly  logical, 
but  it  might  work  out  fairly  well  in  practice;  government 
by  the  law — that  is,  the  opinion  of  the  majority — for  the 
weak  (themselves  the  majority),  government  by  their  own 

65 


MRS.  MAXON    PROTESTS 

consciences  and  inclinations  for  the  strong.  Probably  it  was 
a  rough  statement  of  what  generally  happened,  if  the  terms 
weak  and  strong  might  be  taken  to  sum  up  the  complex 
whole  of  a  man's  circumstances  and  character;  both  must 
by  all  means  be  considered. 

But  who  are  the  strong  ?  How  can  they  judge  of  their 
prowess  until  they  are  in  the  thick  of  the  fray  ?  If  it  fails 
them  then,  it's  too  late — and  away  to  the  horse-pond!  You 
do  poor  service  to  a  friend  if  you  flatter  him  in  this  matter. 
When  he  finds  himself  in  the  pond,  he  will  not  be  so  grateful 
for  your  good  opinion. 

Winnie  came  in,  bright-eyed,  softly  singing,  making  for 
up-stairs  at  a  hasty  pace. 

"I  shall  be  late  for  dinner!"  she  cried.  "I  met  Mr.  Led- 
stone,  and  he  made  me  go  for  a  little  walk." 

"Did  you  enjoy  it?"  asked  Stephen,  politely. 

"Yes,  thank  you,  Stephen,  very  much." 

She  was  gone.  Stephen  sighed.  She  had  only  one  life — 
that  was  the  unspoken  plea  of  her  youth,  her  beauty,  and 
her  new-born  zest  in  living.  Say  what  you  like,  the  plea  was 
cogent. 


VII 

A   CODE   AND   A   THEORY 

TO  probe  Godfrey  Ledstone's  mind  would  be  to  come 
up  against  the  odd  bundle  of  ideas  which  constitutes 
the  average  young  man's  workaday  morality  —  the  code 
before  mentioned.  This  congeries  of  rules,  exceptions, 
compromises,  strictnesses,  and  elasticities  may  be  con- 
demned; it  cannot  be  sneered  at  or  lightly  dismissed.  It 
has,  on  the  whole,  satisfied  centuries;  only  at  rare  intervals 
has  it  been  seriously  interfered  with  by  the  powers  that  be, 
by  Church  or  State  or  Church-ruled  State. 

To  interfere  seriously  with  it  is  to  rouse  a  hive  of  ques- 
tions, large,  difficult,  so  profoundly  awkward  as  to  appal 
statesmen,  lay  or  ecclesiastical — questions  not  only  moral 
and  religious,  but  social  and  economic.  Formal  condemna- 
tion and  practical  tolerance  leave  these  questions  sleeping. 
The  code  goes  on,  exercising  its 'semi-secret,  underground 
jurisdiction — a  law  never  promulgated  but  widely  obeyed, 
a  religion  with  millions  of  adherents  and  not  a  single 
preacher.  Rather  a  queer  way  for  the  world  to  live  ? 
Rather  a  desperate  attempt  at  striking  a  balance  between 
nature  and  civilization  ?  No  doubt.  But  then,  of  course, 
it  is  only  temporary.  We  are  all  going  to  be  good  some  day. 
To  make  us  all  good,  to  make  it  possible  for  us  all  to  be 
good  immediately — well,  there  is  no  telling  but  what  that 

6? 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

might  involve  a  radical  reconstitution  of  society.  And 
would  even  that  serve  the  turn  ? 

The  code  never  had  a  more  unquestioning,  a  more  con- 
tented adherent  than  Godfrey.  Without  theorizing  —  he 
disliked  theories  and  had  a  good-natured  distrust  of  them — 
he  hit  just  that  balance  of  conduct  whereof  the  code  ap- 
proves; if  he  had  talked  about  the  matter  at  all  (the  code 
does  not  favor  too  much  talking),  he  might  have  said  that 
he  was  "not  a  saint,"  but  that  he  "played  the  game."  His 
fellow-adherents  would  understand  perfectly  what  he  meant. 
And  the  last  thing  in  the  world  that  he  contemplated  or  de- 
sired was  to  attack,  or  openly  to  flout,  accepted  standards. 
The  code  never  encojirages  a  man  to  do  that.  Besides,  he 
had  a  father,  a  mother,  and  a  sister,  orthodox-thinking 
people,  very  fond  and  proud  of  him;  he  would  not  will- 
ingly do  or  say  anything  to  shock  them.  Even  from  a  pro- 
fessional point  of  view — but  when  the  higher  motives  are 
sufficient  to  decide  the  issue,  why  need  they  invoke  the  some- 
what compromising  alliance  of  others  purely  prudential  ? 

By  now  he  was  very  much  in  love  with  Winnie  Maxon, 
but  he  was  also  desperately  vexed  with  her,  and  with  all  the 
amiable  theorizers  at  Shaylor's  Patch.  The  opportunity 
had  seemed  perfect  for  what  he  wanted,  and  what  he  wanted 
seemed  exactly  one  of  the  allowed  compromises — an  ideal 
elasticity!  Whom  would  it  wrong  ?  Not  Cyril  Maxon, 
surely  ?  He  was  out  of  court.  Whom  would  it  offend  ? 
There  was  nobody  to  offend,  if  the  affair  were  managed 
quietly — as  it  could  be  here  in  the  country.  And  she  liked 
him;  though  he  had  made  no  declaration  yet,  he  could  not 
doubt  that  she  liked  him  very  much. 

But  the  theorizers  had  been  at  her.  When  he  delicately 
felt  his  way,  discussing  her  position,  or,  professedly,  the 

68 


A    CODE    AND    A   THEORY 

position  of  women  in  general  whose  marriages  had  proved 
a  failure,  she  leaned  back,  looking  adorably  pretty,  and 
calmly  came  out  with  a  remark  of  a  profoundly  disconcerting 
nature. 

"If  I  ever  decided  to — to  link  my  life  with  a  man's  again, 
I  should  do  it  quite  openly.  I  should  tell  my  husband  and 
my  friends.  I  should  consider  myself  as  doing  just  the  same 
thing  as  if  I  were  marrying  again.  I  talked  it  all  over  with 
Tora  the  other  night,  and  she  quite  agreed  with  me." 

Agreed  with  her!  Tora  had  put  it  into  her  head,  of 
course,  Godfrey  thought,  angrily.  The  idea  had  Tora's 
hall-mark  stamped  large  in  its  serene,  straightforward  irra- 
tionality. 

"  But  that  'd  mean  an  awful  row,  and  the — a  case,  and 
all  that!" 

"I  hope  it  would.     But  Cyril  doesn't  approve  of  divorce." 
"Then  you'd  never  be  able  to — to  get  regular,  as  long  as 
he  lived." 

"I  think  I  should  be  regular,  without  getting  regular," 
she  answered,  smiling. 

"What's  the  good  of  defying  the  world  ?" 
"  Isn't  that  the  only  way  bad  things  get  altered  ?" 
"  It  needs  a  good  deal  of  courage  to  do  things  like  that 
— right  or  wrong." 

"  I  should  rely  on  the  man  I  loved  to  give  me  the  courage." 
Godfrey  did  not  wish  to  admit  that  the  man  whom  (as 
he  hoped)  she  loved  lacked  courage.  The  answer  irri- 
tated him;  he  sat  frowning  sulkily,  his  usual  gayety  sadly 
overcast.  Winnie's  eyes  scanned  his  face  for  a  moment; 
then,  with  a  sigh,  she  looked  over  the  lawn  to  the  valley 
below.  She  was  disappointed  with  the  reception  of  her 
great  idea.  "Of  course,  the  two  people  would  have  to  be 

69 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

very  much  in  love  with  each  other,"  she  added,  with  a 
little  falter  in  her  voice. 

He  found  a  way  out  of  his  difficulty.  "The  more  a  man 
loved  a  woman,  the  less  likely  he'd  be  to  consent  to  put  her 
in  such  a  position,"  he  argued.  His  face  cleared;  he  was 
pleased  with  his  point;  it  was  good,  according  to  the  code. 

"It  would  be  the  only  honorable  position  for  her,"  Winnie 
retorted. 

He  rose  to  his  feet  in  a  temper;  it  was  all  so  unreasonable. 
"I  must  go." 

"Are  you  coming  to  anything  to-morrow?" 

"No,  I  shall  be  in  town  to-morrow.  I  dare  say  I  shall 
stay  a  night  or  two."  This  was  by  way  of  revenge — or 
punishment.  Let  her  see  how  she  liked  Shaylor's  Patch 
without  him! 

She  turned  to  him,  holding  out  her  hand;  in  her  eyes  was 
raillery,  half-reproachful,  half-merry.  "Come  back  in  a 
better  temper!"  she  said. 

"I'm  a  fool  to  come  back  at  all."  He  kissed  her  hand 
and  looked  steadily  into  her  eyes  before  he  went  away. 

Himself  at  once  a  poor  and  a  pleasure-loving  man,  God- 
frey had  the  good-luck  to  own  a  well-to-do  and  devoted 
friend,  always  delighted  to  "put  him  up"  and  to  give  him 
the  best  of  hospitality.  Bob  Purnett  and  he  were  old 
school  -  fellows  and  had  never  lost  sight  of  each  other. 
Bob  had  four  thousand  a  year  of  his  own  (though  not  of  his 
own  making),  and  in  the  summer  he  had  no  work  to  do;  in 
the  winter  he  hunted.  He  was  a  jovial  being,  and  very 
popular,  except  with  the  House  Committee  and  the  cook  of 
his  club;  to  these  unfortunate  officials  he  was  in  the  nature 
of  a  perpetual  Assize  Court  presided  over  by  a  "Hanging 
Judge." 

70 


A    CODE    AND    A    THEORY 

He  gave  Godfrey  a  beautiful  dinner  and  a  magnum  of 
fine  claret;  let  it  be  set  down  to  his  credit  that  he  drank — 
and  gave — fine  claret  at  small  dinners.  He  knew  better  than 
to  be  intemperate.  Did  he  not  want  to  go  on  hunting  as 
long  as  possible  ?  Nor  was  Godfrey  given  to  excess  in  wine- 
drinking.  Still,  the  dinner,  the  claret,  the  old  friendship, 
the  liqueur,  the  good  cigar,  did  their  work.  Godfrey  found 
himself  putting  the  case.  It  appeared  to  Bob  Purnett  a 
curious  one. 

"But  it's  rot,"  he  observed.  "You're  married  or  you're 
not — eh?"  He  himself  was  not — quite  distinctly.  "Must 
be  very  pretty,  or  she  wouldn't  expect  you  to  stand  it  ?" 

Godfrey  laughed.  There  was  a  primitive  truthfulness 
about  Purnett's  conversation.  He  was  not  sophisticated  by 
thought  or  entangled  in  theory — quite  different  from  the 
people  at  Shaylor's  Patch. 

"She  is  very  pretty;  and  absolutely  a  lady — and  straight, 
and  all  that." 

"Then  let  it  alone,"  counselled  Bob  Purnett. 

"I  can't  help  it,  old  chap."  Again  the  primitive  note — 
the  cry  that  there  are  limits  to  human  endurance.  Godfrey 
had  not  meant  to  utter  it.  The  saying  of  it  was  an  illumina- 
tion to  himself.  Up  to  now  he  had  thought  that  he  could 
help  it — and  would,  if  he  were  faced  with  theories  and 
irrationality. 

"Let's  go  to  a  Hall  ?"  Bob  suggested. 

"I'd  like  a  quiet  evening  and  just  a  jaw." 

Bob  looked  gravely  sympathetic.  "Oh,  you've  got  it  in 
the  neck!"  he  said,  with  a  touch  of  reverent  wonder  in  his 
voice — something  like  the  awe  that  madmen  inspired  in  our 
forebears.  Godfrey  was  possessed! 

"Yes,  I  have — and  I  don't  know  what  the  deuce  to  do." 


MRS.  MAXON    PROTESTS 

"Well,  what  the  deuce  are  you  to  do?"  asked  Purnett. 
His  healthy,  ruddy,  unwrinkled  face  expressed  an  honest 
perplexity.  "Must  be  a  rum  little  card — isn't  she?" 

"I  can't  help  it,  Bob." 

"Dashed  awkward!" 

In  fact,  these  two  adherents  of  the  code — may  it  be  written, 
honest  adherents,  for  they  neither  invented  nor  defended, 
but  merely  inherited  it  ? — were  frankly  puzzled.  There  is 
a  term  in  logic — dichotomy — a  sharp  division,  a  cutting  in 
two,  an  opposing  of  contradictories.  You  are  honest  or  not 
honest,  sober  or  not  sober.  Rough  reasoning,  but  the  police- 
courts  have  to  work  on  it.  So  you  are  regular  or  irregular. 
But  people  who  want  to  make  the  irregular  regular — that  is 
as  great  a  shock  to  the  adherents  of  the  code  as  their  tenets 
are  to  the  upholders  of  a  different  law.  The  denial  of  one's 
presuppositions  is  always  a  shock — because  one  must  start 
from  somewhere.  It  is  a  "shock  to  credit" — credit  of  some 
kind — and  how  are  any  of  us  to  get  on  without  credit  ? 

"Bring  two  more  old  brandies,  Walter,"  Mr.  Purnett 
commanded.  It  was  the  only  immediate  and  practical  step. 

"Not  for  me,  old  chap." 

Bob  nodded  accordingly  to  Walter.  His  face  was  incon- 
ceivably solemn. 

"I  sometimes  feel  like  cutting  the  whole  thing,"  said 
Godfrey,  fretfully. 

"Well,  there  are  other  women  in  the  world,  aren't  there  ?" 

"No,  no.  I  mean  the  whole  thing.  What's  the  good  of 
it  ?"  The  young  man's  fresh  face  looked  for  the  moment 
weary  and  old;  he  flung  his  good  cigar,  scarcely  half  smoked, 
into  the  fireplace. 

Bob  Purnett  knew  better  than  to  argue  against  a  mood  like 
that;  one  might  just  as  well  argue  against  a  toothache. 

72 


A    CODE    AND    A   THEORY 

"Let's  go  home  and  have  an  early  bed,"  he  suggested. 
He  yawned,  and  tried  to  hide  the  action.  He  was  devoted 
to  his  friend,  but  his  friend  had  raised  a  puzzle,  and  puzzles 
soon  fatigued  him — except  little  ones  made  of  wood,  for 
which  he  had  a  partiality. 

For  three  whole  days  Godfrey  Ledstone  fought,  really  try- 
ing to  "cut  the  whole  thing,"  to  master  again  the  feelings 
which  had  mastered  him,  not  to  go  back  to  Shaylor's  Patch. 
On  one  day  he  went  to  see  his  people,  the  father,  mother, 
and  sister  who  were  orthodox-thinking  and  so  fond  and 
proud  of  him.  They  lived  in  Woburn  Square.  The  old 
gentleman  had  been  an  accountant  in  a  moderately  good 
way  of  business,  and  had  retired  on  a  moderately  good  com- 
petence; at  least,  he  was  not  old  really,  but,  like  some  men, 
he  took  readily,  even  prematurely,  to  old  age.  Everything 
in  the  house  seemed  to  Godfrey  preternaturally  settled;  it 
even  seemed  settled  somehow  that  Amy  would  not  marry. 
And  it  was  odd  to  think  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ledstone  had 
once  married,  had  (as  it  must  be  presumed)  suffered  from 
these  terrible  feelings,  had  perhaps  doubted,  feared,  strug- 
gled, enjoyed.  To-day  all  was  so  placid  in  Woburn  Square; 
the  only  really  acute  question  was  the  Income  Tax — that 
certainly  was  a  grievance  to  Mr.  Ledstone.  Godfrey  ap- 
preciated the  few  hours  of  repose,  the  fondness,  and  the 
pride.  It  seemed  then  quite  possible  to  "cut  the  whole 
thing" — yes,  the  whole  of  it. 

Bob  Purnett  went  off  on  a  short  visit,  leaving  his  comfort- 
able flat  at  his  friend's  disposal.  Why  not  stay  in  London, 
do  a  good  turn  at  work,  and  see  some  more  of  his  people  in 
Woburn  Square  ?  A  good  and  wise  programme.  But  on 
the  fourth  day  came  a  gust  that  blew  the  good  and  wise 
programme  clean  out  of  the  window — a  gust  of  feeling  like 

73 


MRS.  MAXON     PROTESTS 

a  draught  of  strong  wine,  heady  and  overpowering.     He 
flung  down  his  pencil,  crying  aloud,  "It's  no  use!" 

He  was  tried  beyond  that  he  was  able.  He  laid  an  in- 
dictment, vague  and  formless,  yet  charged  with  poignant 
indignation,  against  the  general  order  of  things,  against  what 
forced  a  man  into  folly,  and  then  branded  him  "Fool"  with 
irons  hissing-hot.  The  old  protest,  the  creature's  cry  against 
the  injustice  of  creation!  An  hour  later  he  was  on  his  way 
to  the  country — back  to  Shaylor's  Patch.  So  far  as  he  was 
concerned,  the  thing  was  settled.  He  might  not  realize  it; 
he  went,  not  led  by  purpose,  but  driven  by  craving.  But 
"On  my  terms  if  I  can,  on  hers  if  I  must,"  interprets  the 
confused  and  restless  humming  of  his  brain. 

To  a  man  in  such  case  the  people  he  meets  as  he  fares 
along  seem  strangely  restful,  impossibly  at  peace.  The  old 
man  with  his  pipe,  the  young  clerk  with  his  sporting  paper, 
the  laborer  in  the  field,  the  toddler  with  its  toy,  all  present 
an  illusion  of  untroubled  existence,  at  which  the  man  with 
the  gadfly  looks  in  envy  and  in  scorn.  They  possess  their 
souls — he  is  possessed.  Well  might  Bob  Purnett  wear  that 
expression  of  awe!  For  some  day  the  normal  man  must 
resume  possession,  and  he  may  find  that  the  strangest 
pranks  have  been  played  by  the  temporary  tenant — furniture 
smashed,  debts  incurred,  and  what  not,  for  all  of  which 
dilapidations  and  liabilities  he,  unfortunate  soul,  is  held  re- 
sponsible! Happily  it  chances,  after  all  not  so  seldom,  that 
the  temporary  tenant  has  made  beauty,  not  havoc,  and  left 
behind  him  generous  gifts,  to  the  enrichment  of  life  till  life 
itself  shall  pass  away. 

Stephen  Aikenhead  sat  on  the  lawn  with  his  little  girl 
Alice,  newly  come  home  for  the  holidays.  She  was  reading 
aloud  to  him;  he  smoked  his  pipe,  and  now  and  again  his 

74 


A    CODE    AND    A    THEORY 

big  hand  would  pass  caressingly  over  the  little,  bowed  head 
with  its  soft,  brown  hair.  The  story  was  about  a  certain 
Princess,  to  whom  a  Fairy  had  given  the  Gift  of  Eternal 
Youth  on  the  condition  that  she  never  fainted  either  from 
fear  or  from  joy.  All  went  well  for  a  very  great  many  years. 
Generations  were  born  and  died,  and  the  Princess  was  still 
sweet  seventeen.  She  outlived  seventy-seven  prime-minis- 
ters. But  at  last  a  very  handsome  groom,  who  had  appeared 
at  the  castle  gates  rather  mysteriously  and  been  taken  into 
the  Princess's  service  without  (as  it  seemed)  any  "charac- 
ter," was  thrown  from  his  horse  while  he  was  in  attendance 
on  his  royal  mistress,  and,  lo  and  behold,  the  Princess 
fainted  for  fear  that  he  might  be  dead,  and  fainted  again  for 
joy  when  she  found  he  wasn't!  So  he  revealed  himself  as 
the  King  of  the  neighboring  kingdom,  and  they  married 
each  other  and  lived  happily  ever  afterward.  Only,  of 
course,  the  Princess  lost  the  Gift  of  Eternal  Youth. 

"I  love  these  stories  about  Princesses,  Alice,"  said 
Stephen.  "Read  me  another.  I  wish  there  were  lots  more 
Princesses.  There  aren't  half  enough  of  them  nowadays. 
They're  so  picturesque,  and  such  jolly  things  happen  to 
them.  Halloo,  Godfrey,  you  back  ?" 

Godfrey  had  sent  the  cab  on  with  his  luggage,  and  let 
himself  in  by  the  garden  gate.  He  arrived  just  in  time  to 
hear  the  end  of  the  story.  Reader  and  listener  were  close 
to  the  parlor  door.  As  his  name  was  spoken,  Godfrey 
heard  a  little  movement  from  within — the  sound  of  the 
movement  of  a  woman's  skirts.  His  impressionable  nature 
responded  to  a  new  appeal,  his  readily  receptive  eyes  beheld 
a  new  vision.  As  he  looked  at  the  big  man  and  his  little 
girl,  so  happy  in  each  other,  so  at  peace  yet  never  in  tedium, 
he  wished  that  it — his  affair — could  be  neither  on  his  terms 

6  75 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

nor  on  hers — could  be  neither  a  deceit  nor  a  defiance,  but 
could  be  the  straight,  regular  thing,  the  good,  old-fashioned 
thing  that,  after  all,  served  most  people's  turn  well  enough. 
There  were  failures,  but  it  was  in  the  broad  way  of  nature 
and  broadly  successful.  Who  really  objected  to  it,  or  ques- 
tioned it  ?  To  whom  was  the  Institution  obnoxious  ?  Rips 
and  cranks,  he  answered  in  his  concise  vernacular;  really  it 
did  well  enough  for  everybody  else — with,  no  doubt,  allow- 
ances made  here  and  there. 

The  soft  rustle  sounded  again  from  within  the  parlor. 
Then  Winnie  Maxon  stood  in  the  doorway  with  shining, 
welcoming  eyes. 

"Well,  would  you  like  the  story  of  the  Princess  with  the 
Broken  Heart  ?"  asked  Alice. 

"Anything  about  a  Princess!"  said  Stephen,  with  hand- 
some liberality. 

"It  sounds  sad,  Alice.  If  it's  sad,  don't  let's  have  it," 
Winnie  pleaded. 

"Oh,  after  all  the  old  doctors  had  tried  to  mend  it,  one 
came,  looking  much  older  and  much  more  wrinkled  than 
all  the  rest — " 

"I  shall  keep  my  eye  on  that  practitioner,  all  the 
same,"  Stephen  interposed.  "I'm  beginning  to  know  the 
ropes!" 

"And  he  mended  it  with  an  enormous  gold  ring  that  he'd 
cut  off  the  little  finger  of  a  giant  he  had  once  killed  on  a  walk 
he  took." 

"What  a  fellow!"  said  Stephen.  "Prince  in  disguise, 
Alice  ?" 

"Why,  father,  of  course  he  was!" 

Stephen  shook  his  big  head  and  turned  his  big  spectacles 
up  to  heaven.  "And  that  fellow  Dennehy  dares  to  call 

76 


A    CODE    AND    A   THEORY 

himself  a  republican!  Now  who — who,  I  ask  you — would 
give  a  fig  for  a  President  in  disguise  ?  Read  me  some  more 
Princesses,  Alice." 

They  all  enjoyed  the  Princesses.     So  sometimes,  for  an 
hour,  a  little  child  shall  lead  us  into  peace. 


VIII 

SUBVERSIVE 

EMBEDDED  in  his  own  conceptions  as  in  a  rock,  Cyril 
Maxon  refused  to  believe  that  his  wife  would  not  soon 
"have  had  enough  of  it."  He  refused  to  accept  the  failure 
of  the  envoy  through  whose  mouth  he  had  been  induced  to 
make  such  great  concessions  and  such  generous  promises. 
Could  they,  in  the  end,  fail  to  move  her  ? 

His  duty  toward  her — that  inexorable  duty  from  which  no 
act  of  hers  could  free  him — called  upon  him  for  another 
effort.  Attlebury  was  with  him  in  this  view,  though  now 
with  less  hope  of  a  favorable  issue;  he  detected  the  fact  that 
his  disciple's  desire  for  self-vindication  was  no  less  strong 
than  his  hope  of  saving  Mrs.  Maxon,  and  feared  for  the 
result  of  this  admixture  of  objects.  He  ventured  on  a 
reminder. 

"Of  course,  you  want  to  be  able  to  feel  you've  done  all 
you  could,  but  the  great  thing  is  to  do  it  successfully.  As 
we  regard  it,  she  has  more  at  stake  than  you." 

"I  believe  I  can  persuade  her,  if  I  go  and  see  her." 

Did  he  really  mean  persuade — or  did  he  mean  frighten  ? 
Attlebury  doubted,  and,  because  he  doubted  that,  doubted 
yet  more  of  the  issue.  The  disciple  did  not  give  the  cause 
fair  play;  a  teacher  has  often  to  complain  of  that. 

In  whatever  shape  Cyril  Maxon  may  have  forecast  in 

78 


SUBVERSIVE 

his  own  mind  the  interview  that  he  proposed,  there  was  no 
question  as  to  how  Winnie  received  the  notice  of  his  intention 
to  seek  her  out  in  her  asylum  at  Shaylor's  Patch.  It  filled 
her  with  sheer  panic;  it  drove  her  to  what  seemed  now  her 
only  refuge.  Her  terror  must  surely  make  an  appeal  ir- 
resistible alike  to  the  ardor  and  to  the  chivalry  of  her  lover  ? 
Or  he  was  no  lover.  Tora  and  she  were  at  one  on  the  point, 
though  it  was  not  put  too  bluntly  between  them. 

"I  can't  see  him;  I  won't,"  she  declared  to  Stephen 
Aikenhead,  running  to  the  man  of  the  house  at  last,  rebel 
against  male  domination  as  she  was. 

"Rather  difficult  to  refuse,  if  he  comes  here." 

"Then  I  won't  be  here  when  he  comes — that's  all."  Her 
fright  made  her  unjust.  "If  you  won't  protect  me — or 
can't — I  must  act  for  myself."  She  flung  out  of  the  room, 
leaving  Stephen  no  chance  of  protesting  that  the  bolts  and 
bars  of  Shaylor's  Patch  were  at  her  service,  and  a  siege  by 
an  angry  lawyer  all  in  the  day's  work. 

She  was  afraid  of  herself;  she  distrusted  her  courage.  She 
wanted  to  have  a  motive  compulsory  in  its  force;  her  in- 
stinct was  to  do  something  which  should  make  a  return 
home  irrevocably  impossible.  Her  husband's  insistence 
hastened  the  crisis,  though  his  patience  could  hardly  have 
averted  it. 

Godfrey  Ledstone  had  the  news  first  from  Tora  Aiken- 
head. Her  calm  eyes  asked  him  plainly  enough  what  part 
it  was  his  to  play.  Tora  had  taken  her  line,  and  at  once  con- 
ceived hesitation  to  be  impossible.  His  native  idea  would 
have  been  to  comfort  her  before  Maxon  came,  and  again 
after  he  had  gone,  and  to  lie  by  in  snug  hiding  when  he  was 
there.  So  ran  the  code,  discreet  and  elastic.  By  now  he 
knew — only  too  well — that  this  was  not  what  these  uncom- 

79 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

promising  people  expected  of  him.  In  their  odd  view  he 
had  already  gone  too  far  for  that  convenient  expedient. 
Social  liberty  might,  it  seemed,  be  more  exacting  than  social 
bondage.  For  if  you  were  always  free  to  do  as  you  liked,  it 
was  obviously  necessary  to  be  very  careful  about  intimating 
too  unreservedly  what  it  was  that  you  would  like  to  do, 
since  there  could  be  no  such  thing  as  pleading  impossibility 
in  defence  of  a  pledge  unfulfilled. 

"  She's  terribly  unhappy.  She  declares  that  she  must  be 
gone  before  he  comes.  She  daren't  meet  him." 

"Why  not?"  he  asked,  sharply.  Another  feeling  was 
stirred  in  him. 

"Well,  he's  always  dominated  her.  He  might  break  down 
her  will  again." 

"You  mean  she  might  go  back?  Cave  in,  and  go 
back  F" 

"That  seems  to  be  what  she's  afraid  of,  herself." 

Tora  entertained  no  more  doubt  of  the  soundness  of  her 
ideas  than  Cyril  Maxon  of  his.  Why  should  she,  she  would 
have  asked,  merely  because  hers  were  new,  while  his  were 
old  ?  To  her  mind  newness  was  a  presumption  of  merit 
in  a  view,  since  the  old  views  had  produced  a  world  mani- 
festly so  imperfect  all  round.  Holding  her  opinion  strongly, 
she  did  not  hesitate  to  use  the  weapons  best  suited  to  secure 
its  triumph.  If  Godfrey's  jealousy  helped  to  that  end,  why 
was  it  illegitimate  to  let  it  play  its  part?  Never  was  a 
woman  less  afraid  of  what  men  call  responsibility. 

"It's  just  awful  to  think  of  the  poor  little  lady  going  back 
to  that  brute  of  a  fellow,"  he  said. 

"Oh,  don't  abuse  him.  I  dare  say  he's  as  unhappy  as 
she  is.  And  he  thinks  he's  right.  I'm  not  sure  you  don't 
think  he's  right,  really."  Tora  smiled  over  her  shrewd 

80 


SUBVERSIVE 

thrust.  "So  you're  the  last  person  who  ought  to  abuse 
him." 

"Oh,  what  does  it  matter  what  I  think?"  he  cried,  im- 
patiently. 

There  was  still  enough  of  his  old  mood  and  his  old  ideas 
in  him  to  stir  a  resentment  against  Tora,  to  make  him  feel 
that  she  was  forcing  his  hand  and  constraining  him  to  ac- 
cept a  bigger  liability  than  he  had  bargained  for.  Theorists 
must  always  be  up  to  that!  They  seem  to  take  a  positive 
pleasure  in  proving  that  you  are  bound  to  go  to  lengths — to 
all  lengths — that  the  comfortable  half-way  will  never  serve! 
Perhaps  they  do  not  enough  reflect  that  the  average  man  is 
not  thereby  encouraged  to  start  at  all. 

But  Winnie  herself  had  genuine  power  to  stir  his  heart — 
and  now,  indeed,  as  never  before,  since  she  seemed  helpless 
save  for  him,  and  hopeless  save  in  him,  yet  in  and  through 
him  both  brave  and  confident — the  most  profound,  the  most 
powerful  flattery  from  sex  to  sex.  Mere  friends  could  not 
help  now;  mere  convictions,  a  naked  sense  of  being  in  the 
right,  would  not  avail.  These  she  had,  but  she  must  have 
love,  too.  To  this  mood  all  the  man  in  him  responded. 

"It  only  needed  this  final  trouble  to — to  make  me  speak." 

"I  don't  think  I  need  speak,"  she  whispered,  with  her 
delicately  quavering  smile.  "You  know  it  all — all  the  great 
thing  it  is.  I'm  not  ashamed  of  it,  Godfrey.  And  you 
won't  be  ashamed  of  me,  will  you  ?" 

The  question  did  not  disconcert  him  now.  For  the  time 
he  had  lost  that  vision  of  the  future  which  had  once  dis- 
quieted and  alarmed  him.  His  phrases  might  be  well- 
worn,  but  they  were  heartily  sincere  when  he  told  her  he 
would  face  the  world,  if  only  she  were  by  his  side. 

"It  shall  all  be  just  as  you  said  you  wished  it  to  be  if 
6  81 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

ever  you  joined  your  life  to  a  man's  again.     He  quoted  al- 
most verbally,  just  missing  her  poetic  "link." 

Winnie  kissed  him  in  warm  and  pretty  gratitude.  "That 
takes  away  my  last  doubt,"  she  told  him.  "I  shall  be 
proud  now,  as  proud  as  any  woman!  And  to-day — just 
for  a  few  hours — let's  forget  everything  except  that  we're 
plighted  lovers."  She  put  her  arm  through  his.  "You'll 
kill  the  giant,  take  his  ring,  and  mend  the  Princess's  Broken 
Heart!" 

"  I  say,  are  you  making  me  a  Prince  in  disguise,  Winnie  ?" 

"Well,  don't  you  feel  like  a  Prince  now  ?"  she  asked,  with 
the  sweet  audacity  of  a  woman  who  knows  that  she  is  loved, 
and  for  her  lover  boldly  takes  herself  at  her  lover's  valu- 
ation. 

Obedient  to  her  wish,  the  outside  world  effected  one  of 
its  disappearances — very  obliging,  if  not  of  long  duration. 
Even  Woburn  Square  made  tactful  exit,  without  posing  the 
question  as  to  what  its  opinion  of  the  proceedings  might 
likely  be.  Of  course,  that  point  could  be  held  immaterial, 
for  the  present  at  least. 

For  the  second  time,  then,  in  Winnie  Maxon's  recent  ex- 
perience, with  a  little  courage  things  proved  easy;  diffi- 
culties vanished  when  faced;  you  did  what  you  held  you 
had  a  right  to  do,  and  nothing  terrible  happened.  Cer- 
tainly nothing  terrible  happened  that  evening  at  Shaylor's 
Patch.  There  was  a  romantic,  an  idyllic  bit  of  courting, 
with  the  man  ardent  and  gallant,  the  woman  gay  but  shy; 
it  was  all  along  orthodox  lines,  really  conventional.  He  had 
undertaken  that  the  affair  should  be  carried  through  on 
Winnie's  lines;  this  was  his  great  and  fine  concession — or 
conversion.  He  observed  it  most  honorably;  she  grew 
more  and  more  gratefully  tender. 

82 


SUBVERSIVE 

"Another  man  than  you — yes,  even  another  man  I  loved — 
might  have  wounded  me  to-night,"  she  murmured  as  they 
parted  at  the  door  after  dinner. 

"I  could  never  wound  you — even  with  my  love." 

She  took  his  hand  and  kissed  it.  "I'm  trusting  you 
against  all  the  world,  Godfrey." 

"You  may  trust  me." 

Her  heart  sang,  even  while  her  lover  left  her. 

For  what  followed  in  the  two  or  three  days  during  which 
she  still  abode  at  Shaylor's  Patch  people  shall  find  what 
names  they  please,  since  her  history  is,  of  necessity,  some- 
what concerned  with  contentious  matters.  Some  may 
speak  of  unseemly  travesty,  some  of  idle  farce;  others  may 
find  a  protest  not  without  its  pathos — a  protest  that  she 
broke  with  the  old  order  only  because  she  must,  that  she 
would  fain  carry  over  into  her  new  venture  what  was  good 
in  the  old  spirit,  that  her  enterprise  was  to  her  a  solemn 
and  high  thing.  They  were  to  be  man  and  wife  together;  he 
must  buy  her  the  ring  that  symbolized  union;  they  must 
have  good  and  true  witnesses — nothing  was  to  be  secret,  all 
aboveboard  and  unashamed.  There  must  even  be  a  little 
ceremonial,  a  giving  and  taking  before  sympathetic  friends, 
a  declaration  that  she  held  herself  his,  and  he  hers,  in  all 
love  and  trust,  and  to  the  exclusion  of  all  other  people  in  the 
world.  Forever  ?  Till  death  did  them  part  ?  No — the 
premises  peremptorily  forbade  that  time-honored  conclu- 
sion. But  so  long  as  the  love  that  now  bound  them  together 
still  sanctified  the  bond  which  it  had  fastened.  Satisfied  in 
her  heart  that  the  love  could  never  die,  she  defined  without 
dismay  the  consequences  of  its  death.  At  all  events,  she 
would  have  answered  to  an  objector,  could  they  be  worse 
than  what  had  befallen  her  when  her  love  for  Cyril  Maxon 

83 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

died  a  violent  death  by  crushing — died  and  yet  was,  in  the 
name  of  all  that  is  holy,  denied  decent  burial  ? 

And  yet  there  were  qualms.  "Will  people  understand  ?" 
was  her  great  question. 

Tora  —  uncompromising,  level  -  headed  —  answered  that 
most  of  them  would  not  even  try  to,  and  added,  "What 
matter?"  Stephen  asked,  "Well,  so  long  as  your  friends 
do  ?"  Her  lover  vowed  that,  whether  her  action  were  ap- 
proved or  not,  no  tongue  could  wag  against  her  honor  or  her 
motives. 

The  last  day  came — the  day  when  the  pair  were  to  set  out 
together,  Godfrey  from  his  summer  cottage  in  the  village  of 
Nether  End,  near  Shaylor's  Patch,  Winnie  from  her  haven 
under  the  Aikenheads'  friendly  roof.  A  home  had  been 
taken  in  London,  but  they  were  to  have  a  week's  jaunt — 
a  honeymoon — in  North  Wales  first.  Winnie  was  now 
putting  the  finishing  touch  to  her  preparations  by  writing 
her  luggage  labels.  The  name  she  wrote  seemed  happily 
to  harmonize  personal  independence  with  a  union  of  hearts 
and  destinies — Mrs.  Winifred  Ledstone. 

The  sound  of  a  man's  footstep  made  her  look  up.  She 
saw  Dick  Dennehy  before  her.  He  had  come  in  from  the 
garden,  and  was  just  clutching  off  his  hat  at  the  sight  of  her. 

"Mr.  Dennehy!  I  didn't  know  you  were  coming  here 
to-day." 

"No  more  did  I,  Mrs.  Maxon,  till  a  couple  of  hours  ago. 
I  found  I  had  nothing  to  do,  so  I  ran  down  to  see  how  you 
were  all  getting  on." 

"Some  of  us  are  just  getting  off,"  smiled  Winnie.  "You're 
in  time  to  say  good-bye." 

"Why,  where  are  you  off  to?     I'm  sorry  you're  going." 

With  a  saucy  glance  Winnie  pushed  a  luggage  label  across 

84 


SUBVERSIVE 

the  table  toward  him.  He  took  it  up,  studied  it,  and  laid  it 
down  again  without  a  word. 

"Well?"  said  Winnie. 

He  spread  out  a  pair  of  pudgy,  splay-fingered  hands  and 
shook  his  shock  -  haired  head  in  sincere,  if  humorous,  de- 
spair. 

"You're  all  heathens  here,  and  it's  no  good  talking  to  you 
as  if  you  were  anything  else." 

"I'm  not  a  heathen,  but  if  the  Church  backs  up  the  State 
in  unjust  laws — " 

He  wagged  a  broad  forefinger.  "Even  a  heathen  tribe 
has  its  customs.  Any  custom's  better  than  none!  Ye  can't 
go  against  the  custom  of  the  tribe  for  nothing.  I  speak  as 
heathen  to  heathen." 

"Can't  customs  ever  be  changed  ?"  Winnie  was  back  at 
her  old  point. 

"You're  not  strong  enough  for  the  job,  Mrs.  Maxon." 
His  voice  was  full  of  pity. 

But  Winnie  was  in  no  mood  to  accept  pity.  "You  call 
me  a  heathen.  Suppose  it  was  A.D.  50  or  100,  and  not  A.D. 
1909.  I  think  you'd  be  a  heathen,  and  I — well,  at  any  rate, 
I  should  be  trying  to  screw  up  my  courage  to  be  a  Christian 
martyr." 

He  acknowledged  a  hit.  "Oh,  you're  all  very  clever!" 
he  grumbled.  "I'll  bet  Stephen  taught  you  that.  That's 
from  his  mint,  if  I  know  the  stamp!  Take  it  as  you  say, 
then — are  you  looking  forward  to  your  martyrdom  ?" 

Perhaps  she  was,  and  in  what  must  be  admitted  to  be  the 
proper  spirit — thinking  more  of  the  crown  than  of  the  stake. 
"I  don't  look  very  unhappy,  do  I  ?"  she  asked,  radiantly. 

"Going  off  with  him  to-day,  are  you?"  She  nodded 
gayly.  The  natural  man  suddenly  asserted  itself  in  Den- 

85 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

nehy.  He  smiled.  "It's  more  than  the  young  dog  de- 
serves, sure  it  is!" 

"Oh,  well,  you're  being  a  heathen  now!"  laughed  Winnie, 
distinctly  well  pleased. 

"I'm  wondering  what  Mrs.  Lenoir  will  say  about  it." 

Winnie's  pleasure  suffered  a  slight  jar. 

"Why  should  Mrs.  Lenoir  be  any  judge  of  a  case  like 
mine  ?"  she  asked,  rather  coldly. 

"Oh,  I'm  not  making  comparisons,"  he  murmured, 
vaguely.  Still  there  was  a  point  of  comparison  in  his  mind. 
Mrs.  Lenoir,  too,  had  been  a  rebel  against  the  custom  of 
the  tribe,  and,  though  the  motives  of  rebellion  differ,  the 
results  may  be  the  same.  "Well,  I'll  wish  you  luck,  any- 
how," he  continued,  holding  out  his  hand.  "I  hope  he'll 
make  you  happy,  for  you're  giving  him  a  lot,  by  the  powers, 
you  are!' 

"I  hope  I'm  giving  anything  like  as  much  as  I'm  getting." 

He  grumbled  something  inarticulate  as  he  passed  by  her 
and  out  of  the  door  into  the  garden.  Winnie  looked  after 
him  with  a  smile  still  on  her  lips.  If  this  were  the  worst  she 
had  to  expect,  it  was  nothing  very  dreadful.  It  was  even 
rather  amusing;  she  did  not  conceive  that  she  had  come 
off  in  any  way  second-best  in  the  encounter. 

Stephen  came  in  a  moment  later  and,  on  her  report  of 
Dennehy's  arrival,  went  to  look  for  his  friend  in  the  garden. 
But  Dennehy  was  nowhere  to  be  found;  he  was  seen  no 
more  that  day.  He  went  straight  back  to  London;  he 
could  not  stop  the  deed,  but  he  would  not  be  an  accomplice. 

"Well,  if  he  doesn't  agree  with  what  we're  doing,  I  think 
he's  right  not  to  stay,"  said  Tora.  Yet  Winnie  felt  a  little 
hurt. 

Then  came  the  travesty,  or  the  farce,  or  the  protest,  or 

86 


SUBVERSIVE 

whatever  it  may  be  decided  to  call  it,  in  which  Winnie 
formally — to  a  hostile  eye  perhaps  rather  theatrically — in 
the  presence  of  her  witnesses,  did  for  herself  what  the 
powers  that  be  would  not  do  for  her — declared  her  union 
with  Gyril  Maxon  at  an  end  and  plighted  her  troth  to  God- 
frey Ledstone.  Godfrey  would  rather  have  had  this  little 
ceremony  (if  it  had  to  be  performed  at  all)  take  place 
privately,  but  he  played  his  part  in  it  with  a  good  grace.  It 
would  be  over  soon — and  soon  he  and  she  would  set  out 
together. 

What  of  little  Alice  during  all  this  ?  She  had  been  sent 
to  play  with  the  gardener's  daughter.  It  would  be  a  porten- 
tous theory,  indeed,  that  forced  a  child  to  consider  the  law 
of  marriage  and  divorce  before  she  attained  the  age  of 
eleven.  Even  Tora  Aikenhead  did  not  go  so  far,  and,  as 
has  been  seen,  Stephen's  theorizing  tendencies  were  held  in 
check  in  his  child's  case. 

Then  off  they  went,  and  on  their  arrival  in  London  they 
were  met  by  Bob  Purnett,  who  gave  them  a  hearty  welcome 
and  a  champagne  luncheon,  where  all  was  very  merry  and 
gay.  There  was,  indeed,  a  roguish  twinkle  in  Bob  Purnett's 
eye,  but  perhaps  it  was  no  more  than  custom  allows  even 
in  the  case  of  the  most  orthodox  of  marriages — and  in  any 
event  Bob  Purnett's  was  not  that  class  of  opinion  to  which 
Winnie's  views  could  most  naturally  be  expected  to  appeal. 
He  treated  Winnie  most  politely,  and  called  her  Mrs.  Led- 
stone. She  did  not  realize  that  he  would  have  done  just 
the  same  if — well,  in  the  case  of  any  lady  for  whom  a  friend 
claimed  the  treatment  and  the  title. 

The  next  morning  two  letters  duly  and  punctually  reached 
their  respective  destinations.  All  was  to  be  open,  all  above- 
board!  Winnie  had  not  found  hers  hard  to  write,  and 

8? 


MRS.  MAXON    PROTESTS 

Godfrey  had  said  nothing  to  her  about  how  extraordinarily 
difficult  he  had  found  his.  One  was  addressed  to  Cyril 
Maxon,  Esquire,  K.C.,  at  the  Temple;  the  other  to  William 
J.  Ledstone,  Esquire,  at  Woburn  Square.  Now  in  neither 
of  these  places  were  the  views  of  Shaylor's  Patch  likely  to 
find  acceptance  or,  even,  toleration.  No,  nor  Bob  Purnett's, 
either.  Though,  indeed,  if  a  choice  had  to  be  made,  the 
latter  might  have  seemed,  not  more  moral,  but  at  least 
less  subversive  in  their  tendency.  A  thing  that  is  subver- 
sively  immoral  must  be  worse,  surely,  than  a  thing  that  is 
merely  immoral  ?  Granting  the  immorality  in  both  cases, 
the  subversive  people  have  not  a  leg  to  stand  on.  They  are 
driven  to  argue  that  they  are  not  immoral  at  all — which  only 
makes  them  more  subversive  still. 

And  the  dictionary  defines  "subversion"  in  these  terms; 
"The  act  of  overturning,  or  the  state  of  being  overturned; 
entire  overthrow;  an  overthrow  from  the  foundation;  utter 
ruin;  destruction" — anyhow,  clearly  a  serious  matter,  and 
at  that  we  may  leave  it  for  the  moment. 


IX 

NO  PROCEEDINGS! 

AT  Cyril  Maxon's  chambers  in  the  Temple — very  pleas- 
ant chambers  they  were,  with  a  view  over  a  broad 
sweep  of  the  river — the  day  began  in  the  usual  fashion.  At 
half-past  nine  Mr.  Gibbons,  the  clerk,  arrived;  at  a  quarter 
to  ten  the  diligent  junior,  who  occupied  the  small  room  and 
devilled  for  the  King's  Counsel,  made  his  punctual  appear- 
ance. At  ten,  to  the  stroke  of  the  clock,  Maxon  himself 
came  in.  His  movements  were  leisurely;  he  had  a  case  in 
the  paper — an  important  question  of  demurrage — but  it  was 
not  likely  to  be  reached  before  lunch.  He  bade  Mr.  Gib- 
bons good-morning,  directed  that  the  boy  should  keep  a 
watch  on  the  progress  of  the  court  to  which  his  case  was 
assigned,  passed  into  his  own  room,  and  sat  down  to  open 
his  letters.  These  disposed  of,  he  had  a  couple  of  opinions 
to  write,  with  time  left  for  a  final  run  through  his  brief, 
aided  by  the  diligent  junior's  note. 

Half  an  hour  later  Mr.  Gibbons  opened  the  door.  Maxon 
waved  him  back  impatiently. 

"I'm  busy,  Gibbons.  Don't  disturb  me.  We  can't  be 
on  in  court  yet  ?" 

"No,  sir.  It's  a  gentleman  to  see  you.  Very  urgent 
business,  he  says." 

"No,  no,  I  tell  you,  I'm  busy." 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

"He  made  it  a  particular  favor.  In  fact,  he  seems  very 
much  upset — he  says  it's  private  business."  He  glanced  at 
a  card  he  carried.  "It's  a  Mr.  Ledstone,  sir." 

"Oh,"  said  Maxon.  His  lips  shut  a  little  tighter  as  he 
took  up  a  letter  which  lay  beside  the  legal  papers  in  front  of 
him.  "Ledstone?"  The  letter  was  signed  "Winifred 
Ledstone." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"What  aged  man  ?" 

"Oh,  quite  elderly,  sir.     Stout,  and  gray  'air." 

The  answer  dispelled  an  eccentric  idea  which  had  en- 
tered Maxon's  head.  If  this  couple  so  politely  informed  him 
of  their  doings,  they  might  even  be  capable  of  paying  him  a 
call! 

"Well,  show  him  in."  He  shrugged  his  shoulders  with 
an  air  of  disgust. 

Stout  and  gray-haired  (as  Mr.  Gibbons  had  observed), 
yet  bearing  a  noticeable  likeness  to  his  handsome  son,  Mr. 
Ledstone  made  a  very  apologetic  and  a  very  flustered  en- 
trance. Maxon  bowed  without  rising;  Gibbons  set  a  chair 
and  retired. 

"I  must  beg  a  thousand  pardons,  Mr.  Maxon,  but  this 
morning  I — I  received  a  letter — as  I  sat  at  breakfast,  Mr. 
Maxon,  with  Mrs.  Ledstone  and  my  daughter.  It's  ter- 
rible!" 

"Are  you  the  father  of  Mr.  Godfrey  Ledstone  ?" 

"Yes,  sir.  My  boy  Godfrey — I've  had  a  letter  from  him. 
Here  it  is." 

"Thank  you,  but  I'm  already  in  possession  of  what  your 
son  has  done.  I've  heard  from  Mrs.  Maxon.  I  have  her 
letter  here." 

"They're  mad,  Mr.  Maxon!     Mean  to  make  it  all  public! 

9° 


NO    PROCEEDINGS! 

What  are  we  to  do  ?    What  am  I  to  say  to  Mrs.  Ledstone 
and  my  daughter  ?" 

"You  must  really  take  your  own  course  about  that." 

"And  my  poor  boy!  He's  been  a  good  son,  and  his 
mother's  devoted  to  him,  and — " 

Cyril  Maxon's  wrath  found  vent  in  one  of  those  speeches 
for  which  his  wife  had  a  pet  name.  "I  don't  see  how  the 
fact  that  your  son  has  run  away  with  my  wife  obliges,  or 
even  entitles,  me  to  interfere  in  your  family  affairs,  Mr. 
Ledstone." 

Acute  distress  is  somewhat  impervious  to  satire.  "Of 
course  not,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Ledstone,  mopping  his  face  for- 
lornly. "  But  what's  to  be  done  ?  There's  no  real  harm 
in  the  boy.  He's  young — " 

"If  you  wish  to  imply  that  my  wife  is  mainly  in  fault, 
you're  entirely  welcome  to  any  comfort  you  and  your  family 
can  extract  from  that  assumption." 

Ledstone  set  his  hands  on  the  table  between  them  and 
looked  plaintively  at  Maxon.  He  was  disconcerted  and 
puzzled;  he  fancied  that  he  had  not  made  himself,  or  the 
situation,  fully  understood.  He  brought  up  his  strongest 
artillery — the  most  extraordinary  feature  in  the  case. 

"The  boy  actually  suggests  that  he  should  bring  your — 
that  he  should  bring  Mrs. — that  he  should  bring  the  lady 
to  see  Mrs.  Ledstone  and  my  daughter!"  He  puffed  out 
this  crowning  atrocity  with  quick  breaths,  and  mopped  his 
face  again. 

"You're  master  in  your  own  house,  I  suppose  ?  You  can 
decide  whom  to  receive,  Mr.  Ledstone."  He  pushed  his 
chair  back  a  little;  the  movement  was  unmistakably  a  sug- 
gestion that  his  visitor  should  end  his  visit.  Mr.  Ledstone 
did  not  take  the  hint. 

7  91 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

"I  suppose  you'll  —  you'll  institute  proceedings,  Mr. 
Maxon  ?" 

"I'm  not  a  believer  in  divorce." 

"You  won't?" 

"I  said  I  was  not  a  believer  in  divorce."  Growing  exas- 
peration, hard  held,  rang  in  his  voice. 

A  visible  relief  brightened  Mr.  Ledstone's  face.  "You 
won't?"  he  repeated.  "Oh,  well,  that's  something.  That 
gives  us  time,  at  all  events." 

Maxon  smiled — not  genially.  "I  don't  think  you  must 
assume  that  your  son  and  the  lady  who  now  calls  herself 
Mrs.  Ledstone  will  be  as  much  pleased  as  you  appear  to  be." 

"Oh,  but  if  there  are  no  proceedings!"  murmured  Led- 
stone. Then  he  ventured  a  suggestion.  "  Private  influence 
could  be  brought  to  bear  ?" 

"Not  mine,"  said  Cyril  Maxon,  grimly. 

"Still,  you  don't  propose  to  take  proceedings!"  He 
munched  the  crumb  of  comfort  almost  affectionately. 

Cyril  Maxon  sought  refuge  in  silence;  not  to  answer  the 
man  was  probably  the  best  way  to  get  rid  of  him — and  he 
had  defined  his  attitude  twice  already.  Silence  reigned  su- 
preme for  a  minute  or  two. 

"I  suppose  my  wife  and  daughter  must  know.  But  as  for 
the  rest  of  the  family — "  Mr.  Ledstone  was  discussing  his 
personal  difficulties.  Maxon  sat  still  and  silent  as  a  statue. 
"  It  may  all  be  patched  up.  He'll  see  reason."  He  glanced 
across  at  Maxon.  "But  I  mustn't  keep  you,  Mr.  Maxon." 
He  rose  to  his  feet.  "If  there  are  no  proceedings — " 
Maxon  sharply  struck  the  handbell  on  his  table;  Gib- 
bons opened  the  door.  "Thank  you.  Good-morning,  Mr. 
Maxon."  Maxon's  silence  was  unbroken  as  his  visitor 
shuffled  out. 

92 


NO    PROCEEDINGS! 

Maxon's  nature,  hard  and  proud,  not  tender  in  affection, 
very  tenacious  of  dignity,  found  now  no  room  for  any  feeling 
save  of  disgust — a  double  disgust  at  the  wickedness  and  at 
the  absurdity — at  the  thing  itself  and  at  the  despicable  pre- 
tence in  which  the  pair  sought  to  cloak  it.  Ledstone 's  in- 
trusion— so  he  regarded  the  visit  of  Godfrey's  father — in- 
tensified his  indignant  distaste  for  the  whole  affair.  To  have 
to  talk  about  it  to  a  man  like  that!  To  be  asked  to  use  his 
influence!  He  smiled  grimly  as  he  tried  to  picture  himself 
doing  that.  Pleading  with  his  wife,  it  must  be  supposed; 
giving  wise  counsel  to  the  young  man  perhaps  ?  He  asked 
nothing  now  but  to  be  allowed  to  wash  his  hands  of  them 
both — and  of  the  Ledstone  family.  Really,  above  all,  of 
the  Ledstone  family!  How  the  thought  of  them  got  on  his 
nerves!  Mr.  Attlebury's  teaching  about  the  duty  of  saving 
a  soul  passed  out  of  sight.  Was  not  he,  in  his  turn,  entitled 
to  avail  himself  of  the  doctrine  of  the  limits  of  human  en- 
durance ?  Is  it  made  only  for  sinners — or  only  for  wives  ? 
Maxon  felt  that  it  applied  with  overwhelming  force  to  any 
further  intercourse  with  the  Ledstone  family — and  he  in- 
structed Mr.  Gibbons  to  act  accordingly,  if  need  should 
arise.  Mr.  Gibbons  had  noticed  Winnie's  handwriting, 
with  which  naturally  he  was  acquainted,  on  her  letter,  and 
wondered  whether  there  could  be  any  connection  between  it 
and  the  odd  visit  and  the  peremptory  order.  He  had  known 
for  some  two  or  three  weeks  that  Mrs.  Maxon  was  no  longer 
in  Devonshire  Street;  he  was  on  very  friendly  terms  with 
the  coachman  who  drove  Cyril  Maxon's  brougham. 

Mr.  Ledstone,  mercifully  ignorant  of  the  aspect  he  as- 
sumed in  Maxon's  thoughts,  walked  home  to  Woburn 
Square,  careful  and  troubled  about  many  things.  Though 
he  was  a  good  man  and  of  orthodox  views,  it  cannot  be  said 

93 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

that  he  either  was  occupied  primarily  with  the  duty  of  saving 
souls;  saving  a  scandal  was,  though  doubtless  not  so  im- 
portant, considerably  more  pressing.  He  was,  in  fact,  run- 
ning over  the  names  of  all  those  of  his  kindred  and  friends 
whom  he  did  not  wish  to  know  of  the  affair  and  who  need 
know  nothing  about  it  if  things  were  properly  managed  and 
if  Godfrey  would  be  reasonable.  He  wished  to  have  this 
list  ready  to  produce  for  the  consolation  of  his  immediate 
family  circle.  They — Mrs.  Ledstone  and  his  daughter — 
must  be  told.  It  would  be  sure  to  "get  to"  them  somehow, 
and  Mrs.  Ledstone  enjoyed  the  prestige  of  having  a  weak 
heart;  it  would  never  do  for  a  thing  like  this  to  get  to  her 
without  due  precautions.  Angry  as  he  was  with  his  son, 
he  did  not  wish  the  boy  to  run  the  risk  of  having  that  on  his 
conscience !  As  a  fact,  the  way  things  get  to  people  is  often 
extremely  disconcerting.  It  is  a  point  that  Shaylor's  Patch 
ought  to  have  considered. 

In  view  of  the  weak  heart — Mrs.  Ledstone  never  exposed 
it  to  the  sceptical  inspection  of  a  medical  man — he  told  Amy 
first,  Amy  concerning  whom  it  seemed  to  be  settled  that  she 
would  never  be  married,  although  she  was  but  just  turned 
twenty-five.  He  showed  Amy  the  letter  from  Godfrey,  his 
son;  he  indicated  the  crowning  atrocity  with  an  accusing 
forefinger. 

"Oh,  she  made  him  put  that  in,"  said  Amy,  with  con- 
temptuous indifference  and  an  absolute  discernment  of  the 
truth. 

Mr.  Ledstone  boiled  over.     "The  impudence  of  it!" 

Amy  looked  down  at  her  feet — shod  in  good,  stout  shoes, 
sensible,  yet  not  ugly;  she  was  a  great  walker  and  no  mean 
hockey-player.  "I  wonder  what  she's  like,"  said  Amy. 
"I've  seen  Mr.  Maxon's  name  in  the  Mail  quite  often. 

94 


NO    PROCEEDINGS! 

What  did  you  think  of  him,  daddy  ?"  She  had  always  kept 
the  old  name  for  her  father. 

Mr.  Ledstone  searched  for  a  description  of  his  impres- 
sions. "He  didn't  strike  me  as  very  sympathetic.  He 
didn't  seem  to  feel  with  us  much,  Amy." 

"  Hates  the  very  idea  of  us,  I  suppose,"  remarked  Amy. 
She  turned  to  Godfrey's  letter  again;  a  faint  smile  came  to 
her  lips.  "He  does  seem  to  be  in  love!" 

"The  question  is — how  will  mother  take  it?" 

"Yes,  of  course,  dear,"  Amy  agreed,  just  a  trifle  absently. 
Yet,  generally  considered,  it  is  a  large  question;  it  has 
played  a  big  part,  for  good  and  evil,  in  human  history. 

Mrs.  Ledstone — a  woman  of  fifty-five,  but  still  pretty  and 
with  prettily  surviving  airs  of  prettiness  (it  is  pleasant  to  see 
their  faded  grace,  like  the  petals  of  a  flower  flattened  in  a 
heavy  book) — took  it  hardly,  yet  not  altogether  with  the 
blank  grief  and  dismay,  or  with  the  spasm  of  the  heart, 
which  her  husband  had  feared  for  her.  She  did  indeed  say, 
"The  idea!"  when  the  crowning  atrocity — the  suggestion 
that  Winnie  should  be  brought  to  see  her — was  mentioned; 
and  she  cordially  endorsed  the  list  of  kindred  and  friends 
who  need  know  nothing  about  it.  Also  she  paid  a  proper 
and  a  perfectly  sincere  tribute  to  outraged  proprieties.  But 
behind  all  this  was  the  same  sort  of  interest  as  had  appeared 
in  her  daughter's  comments — and  had  existed  more  ex- 
plicitly in  her  daughter's  thoughts.  These  Maxons — this 
Mrs.  Maxon,  for  the  husband  was  a  subordinate  figure,  al- 
though with  his  own  interest — had  abruptly  made  incursion 
into  the  orderly  life  of  Woburn  Square,  not  merely  challeng- 
ing its  convictions,  but  exciting  its  curiosity,  bringing  it  sud- 
denly into  contact  with  things  and  thoughts  that  it  had  seen 
only  in  the  newspapers  or  (in  Amy's  case)  now  and  then  at 

95 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

the  theatre,  where  dramas  "of  ideas"  were  presented.  Of 
course,  they  knew  such  things  happened;  one  may  know 
that  about  a  thing,  and  yet  find  it  very  strange  when  it  hap- 
pens to  one's  self. 

"There  was  always  something  about  that  boy,"  said  Mrs. 
Ledstone.  The  vagueness  was  extreme,  but  pride  lurked  in 
the  remark,  like  onion  in  the  salad. 

And  she,  like  her  husband,  was  immeasurably  comforted 
by  the  news  that  there  would  be  no  proceedings.  "His 
career  won't  suffer,  father."  She  seemed  to  draw  herself 
up,  as  though  on  the  brink  of  moral  laxity.  "  But,  of  course, 
it  must  be  put  a  stop  to  at  once."  She  read  a  passage  in 
Godfrey's  letter  again.  "Oh,  what  a  goose  the  boy  is!  His 
head's  turned;  you  can  see  that.  I  suppose  she's  pretty — or 
what  they  call  smart,  perhaps." 

"The  whole  thing  is  deplorable,  but  the  grossest  feature 
is  the  woman's  effrontery."  The  effrontery  was  all  the 
woman's — an  unkind  view,  but  perhaps  in  this  case  more  un- 
kind than  unjust.  "How  could  she  look  you  in  the  face, 
mother  ?"  Mr.  Ledstone  squeezed  his  wife's  hand  sympa- 
thetically. 

"Well,  we  must  get  him  away  from  her  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible." 

A  pessimist — one  of  those  easily  discouraged  mortals  who 
repine  at  nothing  being  effected  within  the  brief  span  of 
their  own  generation — might  liken  the  world  to  a  ponderous 
ball,  whereunto  are  attached  five  thousand  strings.  At  the 
end  of  each  somebody  is  tugging  hard;  but  all  of  them  are 
tugging  in  different  directions.  Universal  effort,  universal 
fatigue — and  the  big  ball  remains  exactly  where  it  was! 
Here  was  Winnie,  heart  and  soul  in  her  crusade,  holding  it 
great,  almost  holy.  But  the  only  idea  in  Woburn  Square 

96  ' 


NO    PROCEEDINGS! 

was  to  put  an  end  to  it  as  soon  as  possible!  And  meanwhile 
to  cover  it  up,  to  keep  it  quiet,  to  preserve  the  possibility  of 
being  able  to  say  no  more  about  it  as  soon  as  it  was  happily 
over.  No  proceedings!  What  a  comfort! 

"Of  course,  we  can  have  nothing  to  do  with  her.  But 
what  about  him — while  it  lasts,  I  mean  ?"  Mr.  Ledstone 
propounded  the  question.  "We  ought  to  mark  our — our 
horror." 

"Yes,  father,  but  we  can't  abandon  the  poor  boy  because 
he's  been  deluded.  What  do  you  think,  Amy  ?  After  all, 
you're  a  grown-up  woman  now."  (Mrs.  Ledstone  was  de- 
fending herself  against  an  inward  sense  of  indelicacy  in  re- 
ferring to  the  matter  before  her  unmarried  daughter.) 

"Oh,  the  more  we  can  get  him  here,  the  better,"  was 
Amy's  view.  "  He'll  realize  how  we  feel  about  it  then." 

"Amy's  right,"  the  father  declared,  emphatically.  "And 
so  are  you,  mother.  We  mustn't  abandon  him.  We  must 
bring  our  influence  to  bear." 

"I  want  to  hear  the  poor  boy's  own  story — not  a  letter 
written  with  the  woman  at  his  elbow,"  said  Mrs.  Ledstone. 

"Will  he  come  without  her?"  Amy  asked. 

"Without  her — or  not  at  all!  It's  my  duty  to  shield  you 
and  your  mother,  Amy.  And  now,  really,  I  must  read  my 
paper."  In  the  excitement  of  the  morning,  in  his  haste  to 
find  Cyril  Maxon,  in  his  terror  of  proceedings,  he  had 
omitted  the  rite. 

"I  haven't  been  through  the  wash  yet,"  said  Mrs. 
Ledstone. 

"It's  time  for  Snip's  walk,"  added  Amy. 

Life  had  to  go  on,  in  spite  of  Winnie  Maxon — just  as  we 
read  that  some  people  lived  their  ordinary  routine  through- 
out the  French  Revolution. 

97 


MRS.  MAXON    PROTESTS 

Snip  was  Amy  Ledstone's  Aberdeen  terrier — and,  let  it  be 
said  at  once,  an  extremely  attractive  and  accomplished  dog; 
he  "died"  for  the  King  and  whined  if  one  mentioned  the 
Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer.  Amy  lavished  on  him  her 
surplus  of  affection — what  was  left  after  her  love  for  mother, 
father,  and  brother,  her  affection  for  uncles,  aunts,  and 
cousins,  and  a  stray  friendship  or  two  which  survived  from 
school-girl  days.  Dogs  sometimes  come  in  for  these  wind- 
falls. But  to-day  her  thoughts — as  she  made  her  way  along 
the  Euston  Road  and  into  Regent's  Park — were  less  occu- 
pied with  Snip  than  was  usually  the  case.  Obstinately  they 
fastened  themselves  on  Winnie  Maxon;  on  more  than 
Winnie  Maxon — on  ill-regulated  affections  in  general.  She 
had  read  about  them  in  novels  (which  are  so  largely  occu- 
pied with  them),  seen  them  exhibited  in  plays,  pursed  her 
lips  over  them  in  newspapers.  All  that  was  not  the  same 
thing — any  more  than  an  earthquake  in  China  is  the  same 
thing  as  a  burglary  in  one's  own  house.  Here  they  were — 
actually  in  the  family  circle!  Not  mere  "dissipation,"  but 
a  settled  determination  to  set  the  rules  at  naught.  What 
manner  of  woman  was  this  Mrs.  Maxon  ?  What  had  driven 
her  to  it?  She  had  "borne  more  than  any  human  being 
could" — so  said  Godfrey's  letter.  She  now  "claimed  a 
little  happiness,"  which  "wronged  nobody."  She  only 
"took  what  the  law  ought  to  give  her — freedom  from  un- 
endurable bondage."  The  phrases  of  the  letter  were  vivid 
in  Amy's  recollection.  A  woman  who  rebelled  against  the 
law — ought  not  her  case  against  it  to  be  heard  ?  Hadn't 
she  at  least  a  right  to  a  hearing  ?  After  all,  as  things  stood, 
she  had  nothing  to  do  with  making  it — nothing  direct,  at 
any  rate.  That  sounded  a  plausible  plea  for  Mrs.  Maxon. 
But,  on  the  other  hand,  because  she  had  been  wronged,  or 

98 


NO    PROCEEDINGS! 

suffered  ill-treatment,  or  had  bad  luck,  to  go  on  and  do 
what  was,  by  Amy's  training  and  prepossession,  the  one 
absolutely  unpardonable  thing,  the  thing  hardly  to  be 
named — "I  don't  see  how  she  could,  whatever  she  thinks!" 
exclaimed  Amy  as  she  entered  the  Broad  Walk. 

People  will,  when  they  are  allowed,  go  to  see  other  people 
hanged,  or  to  see  murderers  in  their  cells,  or  to  watch  a 
woman  battling  in  open  court  for  her  fame  as  for  her  life. 
It  was  something  of  this  sort  of  interest  that  fastened  Amy's 
thoughts  on  Winnie  Maxon.  There  is  some  admiration, 
some  pity,  in  the  feeling — and  certainly  a  high  curiosity 
about  such  people  in  the  average  mind,  the  law-keeping,  the 
non-speculative  mind,  the  mind  trained  to  regard  conven- 
tions as  eternities  and  national  customs  as  laws  divine. 

Suddenly  a  smile  came  on  her  lips.  Would  it  be  very 
wrong?  She  and  Godfrey  had  always  been  "awfully  good 
friends."  She  would  like  to  be  that  still.  What  an  awfully 
good  friend  he  would  think  her  if — if  she  did  not  treat  Mrs. 
Maxon  as  dirt!  If  she — Amy  trembled  intellectually  as 
the  speculation  developed  itself — without  saying  anything 
about  it  at  home,  went  to  see  her,  made  friends,  tried  to  un- 
derstand her  point  of  view — called  her  "Winnie"!  Calling 
her  "Winnie"  seemed  the  supreme  point,  the  pivot  on  which 
her  attitude  turned. 

Then  came  a  cold  doubt.  "Will  she  care  to  be  called 
Winnie?"  "Will  she  care  about  seeing  me?"  "She's 
pretty,  she's  smart,  she  has  been  in  society."  Falling  in 
love  with  a  man  may  not  involve  a  concern  about  the  opinion 
of  his  maiden  sister.  How  pretty  was  Mrs.  Maxon,  how 
smart? 

Interest  in  Winnie  Maxon  accumulated  from  source  after 
source.  Yes,  and  on  Amy  Ledstone's  part,  interest  in  her- 

99 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

self  accrued  also,  mingled  with  a  little  uneasiness.  She 
seemed  to  have  travelled  far  in  her  meditations — and  she  had 
almost  forgotten  Snip.  Yet  it  was  hardly  likely  that  these 
speculations  would  in  the  end  issue  in  much.  Amy  herself 
recognized  that.  They  would  probably  produce  nothing 
save  a  touch  of  sympathy,  treacherous  to  her  home,  in  regard 
to  Winnie  barren  and  unexpressed.  They  could  not  pre- 
vent her  from  being  against  Winnie;  they  could  only  make 
her  sorry  that  she  had  to  be.  Even  so  much  was  a  victory — 
hard  won  against  the  prepossessions  of  her  mind  and  the 
canons  of  her  life. 


X 

MAUVE    ENVELOPES 

THE  first  condition  of  being  able  to  please  yourself  is  to 
have  enough  to  live  upon.  Stephen  Aikenhead  was 
entirely  right  about  that.  Thrift,  exercised  by  yourself  or 
by  some  beneficent  forerunner,  confers  independence;  you 
can  live  upon  the  world,  and  yet  flout  it.  (Within  the 
limits  of  the  criminal  law,  of  course,  but  why  be  a  criminal 
if  you  have  enough  to  live  upon  ?  You  lack  the  one  really 
good  excuse.)  Imagine  the  state  of  affairs  if  it  were  not  so — 
if  banks,  railways,  docks,  and  breweries  could  refuse  you 
your  dividends  on  the  ground  of  irregularity  in  your  private 
life!  What  a  sudden  and  profound  quarter-day  reforma- 
tion of  manners  among  the  well-to-do  classes  opens  before 
our  fantastic  vision!  Really  enough  to  turn  the  clergy  and 
ministers  of  all  denominations  green  with  envy! 

This  economic  condition  was  fulfilled  for  Godfrey  Led- 
stone's  establishment — just  fulfilled  according  to  Winnie's 
ideas,  and  no  more.  She  had  a  hundred  and  fifty  pounds 
a  year;  Godfrey's  earnings  averaged  about  two  hundred,  or 
a  trifle  more.  His  father  had  been  in  the  habit  of  giving 
him  a  check  for  fifty  at  Christmas — but  that  addition  could 
scarcely  be  relied  on  now.  It  was  not  riches;  to  one  ac- 
customed to  Devonshire  Street  and  a  rising  King's  Counsel's 
income  it  was  by  no  means  riches.  But  it  was  enough;  with 

101 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

care  it  would  support  the  small  quarters  they  had  taken  near 
Baron's  Court  Station  in  West  Kensington — a  studio,  a 
small  dining-room,  two  bedrooms,  a  bathroom,  and  "the 
usual  offices "  (unusually  cramped  "the  usual  offices ").  No 
room  for  expansion!  But  they  did  not  mean  to  expand  at 
present. 

Here  Winnie  sat  down  to  defy  or  to  convert  the  world. 
She  had  to  begin  the  process  with  her  cook-housemaid. 
Defiance,  not  conversion,  was  here  certainly  the  word,  and 
Godfrey  was  distinctly  vexed  at  Winnie's  opening  of  the 
matter  to  the  cook-housemaid.  Since  there  were  to  be  no 
proceedings,  need  the  good  woman  have  been  told  at  all  ? 

The  occasion  of  this — their  first — tiff  was  small,  but  by 
no  means  insignificant.  Winnie  was  holding  Godfrey  to  his 
promise  that  he  would  not  be  ashamed  of  her. 

"Among  our  friends,  I  meant,  of  course,"  Godfrey  ex- 
plained. "Among  educated,  thinking  people,  who  can  ap- 
preciate your  position  and  our  point  of  view.  But  this 
woman  will  simply  think  that  you're — well,  that  you're  what 
you're  not,  you  know." 

"How  can  she,  when  I  told  her  all  about  it?" 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Wait  till  you  blow  her  up 
about  something;  you'll  see  what  I  mean,"  said  he. 

"Then  I  shall  dismiss  her."  Winnie's  proud  little  face 
was  very  flushed. 

There  were  sides  of  life  which  Godfrey  had  observed. 
They  had  three  cook-housemaids  in  quick  succession,  and 
were  approaching  despair  when  Dick  Dennehy  found  them 
an  old  Irishwoman,  who  could  not  cook  at  all,  but  was  en- 
tirely charitable.  She  had  been  told  about  the  situation 
beforehand  by  Dick;  there  was  no  occasion  for  Winnie  to 
refer  to  it.  Winnie  did  not,  and  tried  not  to  feel  relieved. 

102 


MAUVE    ENVELOPES 

Also  she  ceased  to  tell  the  occasional  charwomen  who  came 
in  "by  the  day."  Godfrey  was  perhaps  right  in  thinking 
that  superfluous.  Dennehy  came  often,  and  they  had  other 
visitors,  some  bachelor  friends  of  Godfrey's,  others  belong- 
ing to  the  Shaylor's  Patch  frequenters — Mrs.  Danford  and 
Mr.  Carriston,  for  example.  Mrs.  Lenoir  also  came — not 
of  her  own  accord  (she  never  did  that),  but  in  response  to  an 
invitation  from  Winnie.  Godfrey  did  not  seem  very  en- 
thusiastic about  this  invitation. 

"But  you  seemed  to  like  her  so  much  at  Shaylor's  Patch," 
said  Winnie,  in  surprise. 

"Oh,  yes!  Ask  her  then,  if  you  like."  He  formulated  no 
objection;  but  in  his  mind  there  was  the  idea  that  Winnie 
did  not  quite  realize  how  very  careful  she  ought  to  be — in 
her  position. 

Such  were  the  little  passing  clouds,  obscuring  for  a  mo- 
ment the  happiness  of  one  or  other  of  them. 

Yet  they  were  very  happy.  Godfrey  was  genuinely  in 
love;  so  was  Winnie,  and  to  her  there  was  the  added  joy — 
the  new  wonder — of  being  free.  Free,  and  yet  not  lonely. 
She  had  a  companion  and  yet  not  a  master.  Hers  was  the 
better  mind  of  the  two.  She  did  not  explicitly  realize  it, 
but  unconsciously  and  instinctively  she  took  the  lead  in  most 
of  their  pursuits  and  amusements.  Her  tastes  guided  their 
interests  and  recreation — the  books  they  read,  the  concerts 
and  theatres  which  they  "squeezed"  out  of  their  none  too 
large  margin  of  spare  cash.  This  initiative  was  unspeakably 
delightful  to  the  former  Mrs.  Maxon,  an  absolutely  fresh 
thing  in  her  life,  and  absolutely  satisfying.  This  freedom, 
this  liberty  to  expand,  to  grow,  to  develop,  was  what  her 
nature  had  craved.  Even  if  she  set  her  love  altogether  on 
one  side — and  how  should  she  ? — this  in  itself  seemed  to 

103 


MRS.  MAXON    PROTESTS 

justify  her  refusal  to  be  any  longer  Mrs.  Maxon  and  her 
becoming  Mrs.  Winifred  Ledstone.  In  fact,  it  was  bound  up 
with  her  love,  for  half  the  joy  of  these  new  travels  and  ad- 
ventures of  the  mind  lay  in  sharing  them  with  Godfrey. 

It  still  seemed  as  if  everything  were  possible  with  a  little 
courage,  as  if  all  the  difficulties  disappeared  when  boldly 
faced.  Could  there  have  been  a  difficulty  more  tremendous 
than  Cyril  Maxon?  He  had  vanished  into  space! 

After  some  six  weeks  of  this  pleasant  existence — during 
which  the  difficulties  at  least  tactfully  effaced  themselves, 
save  in  such  trifles  as  have  been  lightly  indicated — a  phe- 
nomenon began  to  thrust  itself  on  Winnie's  notice.  God- 
frey was  not  a  man  of  much  correspondence;  he  did  most 
of  his  business  in  person  and  conducted  other  necessary  com- 
munications by  telephone  (that  was  a  luxury  which  they  had 
agreed  that  they  must "  run  to"  at  the  cost  of  some  other,  and 
unspecified,  luxury  to  be  foregone).  Now  he  began  to  re- 
ceive a  certain  type  of  envelope  quite  often — three  times  a 
week  perhaps.  It  was  a  mauve  envelope,  rather  larger  than 
the  ordinary.  Winnie  was  careful  not  to  scrutinize  these 
envelopes — she  did  not  even  inspect  the  postmarks — but 
she  could  not  help  observing  that,  though  the  envelopes  were 
always  alike,  the  handwriting  of  the  address  varied.  In 
fact,  she  noted  three  varieties.  Being  a  woman  of  some 
perspicacity,  she  did  not  really  need  to  inspect  the  post- 
marks. Godfrey  had  a  father,  a  mother,  a  sister.  They 
were  writing  to  him,  writing  rather  bulky  letters,  which  he 
did  not  read  in  company,  but  stowed  away  in  his  pocket; 
they  never  reappeared,  and  presumably  were  disposed  of 
secretly,  on  or  off  the  premises.  Nor  did  she  ever  detect  him 
in  the  act  of  answering  one;  but  in  the  course  of  his  work 
he  spent  many  hours  away  from  home,  and  he  belonged  to  a 

104 


MAUVE    ENVELOPES 

modest  little  club  in  the  neighborhood  of  Covent  Garden; 
no  doubt  it  had  writing-paper. 

These  mauve  envelopes  began  to  afflict  the  peace,  or  at 
least  the  happiness,  of  the  little  household.  The  mornings 
on  which  they  came  were  less  cheerful  than  other  mornings; 
a  constraint  showed  itself  in  greetings  and  farewells.  They 
were  reminders — ominous  reminders — of  the  big  world  out- 
side, the  world  which  was  being  defied.  His  family  was  at 
Godfrey  Ledstone — three  of  his  family,  and  one  of  them 
with  a  weak  heart. 

Three  weeks  of  the  mauve  envelopes  did  their  work.  One 
had  come  on  the  Saturday;  on  the  Sunday  morning  Godfrey 
made  an  apology  to  Winnie.  He  would  not  be  able  to  join 
her  in  their  usual  afternoon  excursion — for  a  walk,  or  to  a 
picture-gallery,  and  so  forth. 

"My  mother's  not  very  well — she's  not  strong,  you  know. 
I  must  go  to  my  people's." 

"Of  course  you  must,  Godfrey.     But — without  me?" 

"Yes."  Passing  her  on  his  way  to  the  mantelpiece,  he 
pressed  her  hand  for  a  moment.  Then  he  stood  with  his 
back  to  her  as  he  filled  his  pipe  with  fingers  unusually 
clumsy.  "Oh,  I've  tried!  They've  been  at  me  for  weeks — 
you  probably  guessed — and  I've  been  back  at  them — letter 
after  letter.  It's  no  use!  And  yesterday  father  wrote  that 
mother  was  really  seriously  upset."  He  turned  round  and 
spoke  almost  fiercely.  "  Don't  you  see  I  must  go,  Winnie  ?" 

"Of  course  you  must,"  she  said  again.  "And  I  can't 
come  if  they — if  they  won't  let  me  in!"  She  managed  a 
smile.  "It's  all  right.  I'll  have  a  walk  by  myself." 

He  tried  to  find  a  bright  side  to  the  situation.  "I  may 
have  a  better  chance  of  convincing  them,  if  I  go.  I'm  no 
good  at  letters.  And  mother  is  very  fond  of  me." 

105 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

"Of  course  you  must  go,"  Winnie  repeated  yet  again. 
What  else  was  there  for  Winnie  to  say — with  Mrs.  Ledstone 
not  strong  and  really  seriously  upset  ? 

"I  haven't  seen  any  of  them  for — oh,  it  must  be  three 
months — and  I  used  to  go  every  Sunday  when  I  was  in 
town." 

"Well,  you're  going  to-day,  dear.  That's  all  settled!" 
She  went  up  to  him  and  kissed  him  daintily.  "And  we 
won't  despair  of  them,  will  we  ?  When  do  you  go  ?" 

"I — I  generally  used  to  go  to  lunch.  They  want  me  to. 
And  come  away  after  tea." 

"Well,  do  just  what  you  used  to.  I  hope  I  shall  be  doing 
it  with  you  in  a  few  weeks." 

"Oh,  I  hope  so,  dearest." 

He  had  not  the  glimmer  of  such  a  hope.  To  ask  him 
if  he  had  even  the  wish  would  have  been  to  put  an  awkward 
question.  The  code  wherein  he  was  Bob  Purnett's  pupil 
recognizes  quite  a  strict  division  of  life  into  compartments. 
He  was  Winnie's  lover  of  a  certainty;  quite  doubtfully  was 
he  her  convert.  Being  her  lover  was  to  break  the  law;  being 
her  convert  was  to  deny  it.  Before  he  met  her  he  had  been 
of  the  people  who  always  contemplate  conforming  to  the 
law — some  day;  at  the  proper  time  of  life,  or  at  the  proper 
time  before  death — whichever  may  be  the  more  accurate 
way  of  putting  it.  He  was  ready  to  say  to  the  Tribunal,  "I 
have  done  wrong" — but  not  to  say,  "You — or  your  inter- 
preters— have  been  wrong."  A  very  ordinary  man  was 
Godfrey  Ledstone. 

So,  after  a  solitary  lunch  (a  sausage  left  cold  from  break- 
fast and  a  pot  of  tea),  Winnie  started  on  a  solitary  expedi- 
tion. She  took  the  train  from  Baron's  Court  to  Hyde  Park 
Corner,  with  the  idea  of  enjoying  the  "autumn  tints"  along 

1 06 


MAUVE    ENVELOPES 

by  Rotten  Row  and  the  Serpentine.  But,  as  she  walked, 
her  thoughts  were  not  so  much  on  autumn  tints  as  on 
Woburn  Square — on  that  family  so  nearly  related  to  her 
life,  yet  so  unspeakably  remote,  to  whom  she  was  worse  than 
a  menace — she  was  a  present  and  active  curse — who  to  her 
were  something  wrong-headed,  almost  ridiculous,  yet  in- 
tensely formidable — really  the  concrete  embodiment  of  all 
she  had  to  struggle  against,  the  thing  through  which  the 
great  world  would  most  probably  hit  at  her,  wound  her,  and 
kill  her  if  it  could.  And  both  the  family  and  Winnie  thought 
themselves  so  absolutely,  so  demonstrably,  right!  Right  or 
wrong,  she  knew  very  well,  as  she  walked  on  toward  the 
Serpentine,  that  now — this  instant — in  Woburn  Square  they 
were  trying  to  get  her  man  away  from  her;  to  make  him 
ashamed  of  her  (he  had  sworn  never  to  be),  to  make  him 
throw  her  over,  to  leave  her  stranded,  to  the  ridicule 
and  ruin  of  her  experiment.  With  a  sudden  catch 
in  the  breath  she  added,  "And  the  breaking  of  my 
heart!" 

Just  as  she  came  near  to  the  lake  she  saw — among  the 
walkers  who  had  till  now  seemed  insubstantial  shades  to  her 
preoccupied  mind — a  familiar  figure,  Hobart  Gaynor!  Her 
heart  leaped  in  sudden  joy;  here  was  an  old,  a  sympathetic 
friend,  the  man  who  understood  why  she  had  done  what  she 
had.  But  Hobart  Gaynor  was  not  alone.  His  radiant  and 
self-satisfied  demeanor  was  justified  by  the  fair  comeliness 
of  the  girl  who  walked  beside  him — his  bride,  wedded  to  him 
a  month  ago,  Cicely  Marshfield.  Winnie  had  sent  him  con- 
gratulations, good  wishes,  and  a  present;  all  of  which  had 
been  cordially  acknowledged  in  a  letter  written  three  days 
before  the  wedding.  The  ceremony  had  taken  place  in  the 
country,  and  quietly  (because  of  an  aunt's  death);  no  ques- 
8  107 


MRS.  MAXON    PROTESTS 

tion  had  arisen  as  to  who  was  or  was  not  to  be  asked  to 
attend  it. 

Her  heart  went  out  to  Hobart.  He  had  loved  her;  she 
had  always  been  very  fond  of  him.  In  her  drab,  uneventful 
girlhood  he  had  provided  patches  of  enjoyment;  in  that 
awful  married  life  he  had  now  and  then  been  a  refuge.  She 
did  not  know  Cicely,  but  Hobart  would  surely  have  chosen 
a  nice  girl,  one  who  would  be  a  friend,  who  would  under- 
stand it  all,  who  could  be  talked  to  about  it  all  ?  With  a 
happy  smile  and  a  pretty  blush  she  met  Hobart  and  his 
bride  Cicely.  She  saw  him  speak  to  her,  a  quick,  hurried 
word.  Cicely  replied — Winnie  saw  the  rapid  turn  of  her 
head  and  the  movement  of  her  lips.  He  spoke  once  more — 
just  as  Winnie  nodded  and  smiled  at  him  and  he  was  rais- 
ing his  hand  to  his  hat.  Then  came  the  encounter.  But, 
before  it  was  fairly  begun,  Winnie's  heart  was  turned  to  lead. 
Hobart's  face  was  flushed;  his  hand  came  out  to  hers  in  a  stiff 
reluctance.  The  tall,  fair  girl  stood  so  tall,  so  erect,  looking 
down,  bowing,  not  putting  out  a  hand  at  all,  ignoring  a  pa- 
thetically comic  appeal  in  her  embarrassed  husband's  eyes. 

Winnie's  eager  words  of  congratulation,  of  cordiality  and 
friendship,  met  with  a  chilly  "Thank  you,"  uttered  under 
an  obvious  protest,  under  force  majeure.  Winnie  set  her 
eyes  on  Hobart's,  but  his  were  turned  away;  a  rigid  smile 
on  his  lips  paid  a  ghastly  tribute  to  courtesy. 

Winnie  carried  the  thing  through  as  briefly  as  possible. 
She  was  not  slow  to  take  a  cue. 

"Well,  I'm  glad  to  have  run  across  you,"  she  said,  "and 
when  you're  settled  in,  I  must  come  and  see  you.  You 
won't  want  to  be  bothered  just  yet." 

Again  Hobart's  glance  appealed  desperately  to  his  wife. 
But  his  wife  left  the  answer  to  him. 

1 08 


MAUVE    ENVELOPES 

"We  are  a  bit  chaotic  still,"  he  stumbled.  "But  soon,  I 
hope,  Winnie — " 

"I'll  give  you  notice.  Don't  be  afraid!  Now  I  must 
hurry  on — good-bye." 

"Good-bye,"  said  Cicely,  with  another  inclination  of  her 
head — it  seemed  so  high  above  Winnie's,  looking  down  from 
such  an  altitude. 

"Good-bye,  Winnie."  A  kindliness,  queerly  ashamed  of 
itself,  struggled  to  expression  in  Hobart's  voice. 

When  the  pair  had  passed  by — after  a  safe  interval — • 
Winnie  turned  and  looked  at  their  retreating  figures,  the 
haughty,  erect  girl,  dear  old  Hobart's  broad,  solid  back, 
somewhat  bowed  by  much  office-work.  Winnie  was  smil- 
ing; it  is  sometimes  the  only  thing  to  do. 

"This  isn't  my  lucky  day."  So  she  phrased  her  thoughts 
to  herself,  coupling  together  the  encounter  in  Hyde  Park 
with  what  was  now — at  this  moment — going  on  in  Woburn 
Square;  for  it  was  not  yet  tea-time,  and  Godfrey's  visit 
would  last,  according  to  custom,  till  after  tea. 

She  got  home  and  waited  for  him  in  the  dusk  of  the  au- 
tumn evening.  An  apprehension  possessed  her;  she  did  not 
know  how  much  effect  Woburn  Square  might  have  had 
upon  him.  But  he  came  in  about  six,  cheerful,  affectionate, 
unchanged.  On  the  subject  of  his  home-visit,  however,  he 
was  rather  reticent. 

"They  were  all  very  kind  —  and  I  really  don't  think 
mother's  any  worse  than  usual.  About  her  frail  ordinary." 
He  seemed  inclined  to  dismiss  the  matter  with  this  brief  sum- 
mary. "And  what  did  you  do  with  yourself?" 

"I  took  the  Tube  up  to  the  Park  and  had  a  walk."  She 
paused.  "I  met  Hobart  and  Cicely  Gaynor." 

"Oh,  the  happy  pair!    How  were  they  flourishing  ?" 

109 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

"They — well,  they  warned  me  off,  Godfrey.  At  least,  she 
did — and  he  had  to  follow  suit,  of  course." 

Godfrey  had  been  helping  himself  to  whiskey  and  soda- 
Water;  tumbler  in  hand,  he  walked  across  the  studio  and 
back  again. 

"Hobart's  one  of  the  very  few  people  in  the  world  I'm 
really  fond  of." 

"Well,  you  know,  Winnie,  you  wanted  it  this  way.  I  as- 
sure you  I  don't  find  it  altogether  comfortable  either."  He 
emptied  the  tumbler  in  a  long  draught  and  set  it  down  on  the 
table. 

She  jumped  up  quickly,  came  to  him,  and  clasped  her 
arms  round  his  neck;  she  could  but  just  reach,  for  he  was 
tall. 

"And  they've  all  been  at  me — and  at  you  about  me — in 
Woburn  Square,  too,  I  suppose  ?" 

"On  my  honor,  you  weren't  once  mentioned  the  whole 
time,  Winnie.  They  were  all  three  just  awfully  kind,  and 
glad  to  see  me." 

Winnie's  face  wore  much  the  same  smile  as  when  she  had 
regarded  Cicely  Gaynor's  erect  back  in  retreat  from  her. 

"That  was  rather  clever  of  them,"  she  remarked. 
"Never  to  have  mentioned  me!" 

"Are  you  being  quite  just  ?"  He  spoke  gently  and  kissed 
her. 

"No,  dear,"  she  said,  and  burst  into  tears.  "How  can 
I  be  just  when  they're  trying  to  take  you  from  me  ?" 

"Neither  they  nor  anybody  else  can  do  that." 

And  then — for  a  space  again — she  believed  her  lover  and 
forgot  the  rest. 

But  on  the  Monday  morning  there  came  two  mauve  en- 
velopes, Winnie  was  down  first  as  it  chanced,  and  this 

no 


MAUVE    ENVELOPES 

time  she  looked  at  the  postmarks.  Both  bore  the  imprint 
"W.  C.,"  clearly  indicative  of  Bloomsbury.  Winnie 
smiled,  and  proffered  to  herself  an  excuse  for  her  detective 
investigation. 

"You  see,  I  thought  one  of  them  might  be  from  Cicely 
Gaynor.  I'm  quite  sure  she  uses  mauve  envelopes,  too." 

The  world  of  propriety  seemed  to  be  draping  itself  in 
mauve — not,  after  all,  a  very  cheerful  color. 

Godfrey  came  in,  glanced  at  the  two  mauve  envelopes, 
glanced  across  at  Winnie,  and  put  the  envelopes  in  his 
pocket.  After  a  silence,  he  remarked  that  the  bacon  was 
very  good. 


XI 

AN   UNMENTIONED   NAME 

AS  autumn  turned  to  winter,  Godfrey's  Sundays  at 
2\  Woburn  Square  firmly  re-established  themselves  as  a 
weekly  custom.  Winnie  could  hardly  deny  that  in  the  cir- 
cumstances of  the  case  they  constituted  a  fair  compromise. 
Woburn  Square  had  a  right  to  its  convictions,  no  less  than 
had  Shaylor's  Patch;  it  was  not  for  her  to  deny  that,  how- 
ever narrow  she  thought  the  convictions;  and  it  would  be 
neither  just  nor  kind  in  her,  even  if  it  proved  possible,  to 
separate  Godfrey  from  his  family.  At  all  events,  as  the 
visits  became  regular,  the  mauve  envelopes  arrived  less 
frequently;  some  consolation  lay  in  that,  as  one  sound 
buffet  may  be  preferred  to  a  hundred  pinches.  She  tried  to 
reconcile  herself  to  finding  her  own  amusements  for  Sunday, 
and  Godfrey,  in  loyalty,  perhaps  in  penitence,  dedicated 
Saturday's  half-holiday  to  her  instead.  Yet  a  weight  was 
on  her  spirit;  she  feared  the  steady,  unrelenting  pressure  of 
Woburn  Square,  of  the  family  tie,  the  family  atmosphere, 
Mrs.  Ledstone's  weak  heart.  In  truth  she  had  greater 
cause  for  fear  than  she  knew,  more  enemies  than  she  realized. 
There  was  her  lover's  native  and  deeply  rooted  way  of  look- 
ing at  things,  very  different  from  the  way  into  which  she  had 
forced  or  cajoled  him.  There  was  the  fact  that  it  was  not 
always  only  the  members  of  the  family  whom  he  met  in 
Woburn  Square. 

112 


AN    UNMENTIONED    NAME 

In  spite  of  Godfrey's  absence  and  Hobart  Gaynor's  de- 
fection, Winnie  was  not  without  friends  and  distractions  on 
her  Sundays.  Sometimes  Dick  Dennehy  would  come,  quite 
unshaken  in  his  disapproval,  but  firm  also  in  his  affection, 
and  openly  scornful  of  Woburn  Square.  "You'd  be  bored 
to  death  there,"  he  told  her.  "And  as  for  the  principle  of 
the  thing,  if  you  can  turn  up  your  nose  at  the  Church 
Catholic,  I  should  think  you  could  turn  it  up  at  the  Ledstone 
family." 

A  reasonable  proposition,  perhaps,  but  not  convincing  to 
Winnie.  The  Church  Catholic  did  not  take  her  lover  away 
from  her  every  Sunday  or  fill  her  with  fears  about  him. 

Mrs.  Lenoir  would  come  sometimes,  or  bid  Winnie  to  tea 
with  her.  With  the  stateliness  of  her  manner  there  was  now 
mingled  a  restrained  pity.  Winnie  was  to  her  a  very 
ignorant  little  woman,  essaying  a  task  meet  only  for  much 
stronger  hands  and  needing  a  much  higher  courage — nay, 
an  audacity  of  which  Winnie  made  no  display.  When  her 
first  passion  had  worn  off,  what  she  had  got  and  what  she 
had  lost  would  come  home  to  her.  She  was  only  too  likely 
to  find  that  she  had  got  nothing;  and  she  had  certainly  lost 
a  great  deal — for  Mrs.  Lenoir  was  inclined  to  make  light  of 
Cyril  Maxon's  "crushing."  She  was  quite  clear  that  she 
would  not  have  been  crushed,  and  thought  the  less  of  Win- 
nie's powers  of  resistance.  But,  being  a  sensible  woman, 
she  said  nothing  of  all  this — it  was  either  too  late  or  too  soon. 
Her  view  showed  only  in  that  hint  of  compassion  in  her 
manner — the  pity  of  the  wayworn  traveller  for  the  youth 
who  starts  so  blithely  on  his  journey. 

Winnie  found  consolation  and  pleasure  in  discussing  her 
affairs  with  both  of  these  friends.  Another  visitor  afforded 
her  a  healthy  relief  from  the  subject.  Godfrey  had  brought 

"3 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

Bob  Purnett  to  the  studio  one  day.  His  first  visit  was  by  no 
means  his  last.  His  working  season  had  set  in;  he  hunted 
five  days  a  week;  but  it  was  his  custom  to  get  back  to  town 
on  Saturday  evening  and  to  spend  Sunday  there.  So  it  fell 
out,  naturally  and  of  no  malice  aforethought,  that  his  calls 
generally  happened  on  Sunday  afternoons,  when  Godfrey  was 
away;  sometimes  he  would  stay  on  and  share  their  simple 
supper,  often  he  would  take  the  pair  out  to  dinner  at  a 
restaurant,  and  perhaps  come  back  again  with  them — to 
talk  and  smoke,  and  so  go  home,  sober,  orderly,  and  in  good 
time — ready  for  the  morrow's  work. 

Winnie  and  he  were  wholesome  for  each  other.  She 
forgot  her  theories;  he  kept  better  company  than  was  his 
wont.  They  became  good  comrades  and  great  friends. 
Godfrey  was  delighted;  his  absences  on  Sunday  seemed  in 
a  way  condoned;  he  was  not  haunted  by  the  picture  of  a 
lonely  Winnie.  He  ceased  to  accuse  himself  because  he  en- 
joyed being  in  Woburn  Square,  and  therefore  enjoyed  it  the 
more  and  the  more  freely.  To  be  glad  your  lover  can  be 
happy  in  your  absence  is  a  good  and  generous  emotion — 
whether  characteristic  of  the  zenith  of  passion  is  another 
question. 

Accustomed  rather  to  lavishness  than  to  a  thrifty  refine- 
ment, Bob  marvelled  at  the  daintiness  of  Winnie's  humble 
establishment.  He  admired — and  in  his  turn  pitied.  His 
friend's  circumstances  were  no  secret  to  him. 

"I  wonder  how  you  do  it!"  he  would  exclaim.  "Do  you 
have  to  work  awfully  hard  ?" 

"Well,  it  sometimes  seems  hard,  because  I  didn't  used  to 
have  to  do  it.  In  fact,  I  used  to  be  scolded  if  I  did  do 
it."  She  laughed.  "I'm  not  pretending  to  like  being 
poor." 

114 


AN    UNMENTIONED    NAME 

"But  you  took  it  on  fast  enough,  Mrs.  Ledstone.  You 
knew,  I  mean  ?" 

"Oh  yes,  I  knew,  and  I  took  it  on,  as  you  call  it.  So  I 
don't  complain." 

"I  tell  you  what — some  day  you  and  Godfrey  must  come 
for  a  spree  with  me.  Go  to  Monte  Carlo  or  somewhere," 
and  have  a  high  old  time!" 

"I  don't  believe  I  should  like  Monte  Carlo  a  bit." 

"Not  like  it  ?     Oh,  I  say,  I  bet  you  would." 

"I  suppose  it's  prejudice  to  condemn  even  Monte  Carlo 
without  seeing  it.  Perhaps  we  shall  manage  to  go  some 
day.  I  think  Godfrey  would  like  it." 

"Oh,  I  took  him  once,  all  right,  with — with  some  other 
friends." 

"And  all  you  men  gambled  like  anything,  I  sup- 
pose ?" 

"Yes,  we  did  a  bit."  Bob  was  inwardly  amused  at  her  as- 
sumption of  the  nature  of  the  party — amused,  yet  arrested 
by  a  sudden  interest,  a  respect,  and  a  touch  of  Mrs.  Lenoir's 
pity.  If  there  had  been  only  himself  to  confess  about,  he 
would  have  confessed. 

"You  want  keeping  in  order,  Mr.  Purnett,"  she  said, 
smiling.  "You  ought  to  marry,  and  be  obliged  to  spend 
your  money  on  your  wife." 

She  puzzled  Bob.  Because  here  she  was,  not  married 
herself!  He  could  not  get  away  from  that  rigid  and  logical 
division  of  his — and  of  many  other  people's,  such  as  Den- 
nehy  and  the  like. 

"I'm  not  a  marrying  man.  Heaven  help  the  woman  who 
married  me!"  he  said,  in  whimsical  sincerity. 

She  saw  the  sincerity  and  met  it  with  a  plump  "Why  ?" 

Bob  was  not  good  at  analysis — of  himself  or  other  people 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

(though  he  was  making  a  rudimentary  effort  over  Winnie). 
"The  way  a  chap's  built,  I  suppose." 

"What  a  very  conclusive  sort  of  argument!"  she  laughed. 
"How's  Godfrey  built,  Mr.  Purnett  ?" 

"Godfrey's  all  right.  He'd  settle  down  if  he  ever  got 
married." 

The  theories  came  tumbling  in  through  the  open  door. 
Cowardly  theories,  had  they  refused  an  opening  like  that! 

"Well,  isn't  he  ?"  asked  Winnie,  with  dangerously  rising 
color. 

Bob  Purnett  was  a  picture  of  shame  and  confusion. 

"I  could  bite  my  tongue  out,  Mrs.  Ledstone — hang  it! 
you  don't  think  I'm — er — what  you'd  call  an  interfering 
chap  ?  It's  nothing  to  me  how  my  friends  choose  to — to 
settle  matters  between  themselves.  Fact  is,  I  just  wasn't 
thinking.  Of  course  you're  right.  He — well,  he  feels  him- 
self married  all  right.  And  so  he  is  married  all  right — don't 
you  know  ?  It's  what  a  chap  feels  in  the  end,  isn't  it  ?  Yes, 
that's  right,  of  course." 

The  poor  man  was  terribly  flustered.  Yet  behind  all  his 
aghastness  at  his  blunder,  at  the  back  of  his  overpowering 
penitence,  lay  the  obstinate  question — could  she  really  think 
it  made  no  difference  ?  No  difference  to  a  man  like  God- 
frey Ledstone,  whom  he  knew  so  well  ?  Submerged  by  his 
remorse  for  having  hurt  her,  yet  the  question  lay  there  in  the 
bottom  of  his  mind.  People  neither  regular  nor  irregular, 
people  shifting  the  boundaries  (really  so  well  settled!) — 
how  puzzling  they  were!  What  traps  they  laid  for  the 
heedless  conversationalist,  for  the  traditional  moralist — or 
immoralist! 

"Oh,  I  don't  expect  you  to  understand!"  Winnie  ex- 
claimed, petulantly.  "I  wonder  you  come  here!" 

116 


AN    UNMENTIONED    NAME 

"Wonder  I  come  here!  Good  Lord!"  He  reflected  on 
some  other  places  he  had  been  to — and  meant  to  go  to 
again,  perhaps. 

"You're  a  hopeless  person,  but  you're  very  kind  and 
nice."  The  color  faded  gradually  and  Winnie  smiled  again, 
rather  tremulously.  "We  won't  talk  about  that  any  more. 
Tell  me  how  the  chestnut  mare  shapes  ?" 

Yet  when  she  heard  about  the  mare,  she  seemed  no  more 
than  passably  interested,  and  for  once  Bob  was  tongue-tied 
on  the  only  subject  about  which  he  was  wont  to  be  eloquent. 
He  could  not  forgive  himself  for  his  hideous,  inexplicable 
slip;  because  he  had  sworn  to  himself  always  to  remember 
that  Mrs.  Ledstone  thought  herself  as  good  as  married. 
But  so  from  time  to  time  do  our  habits  of  thought  trip  up 
our  fair  resolutions;  a  man  cannot  always  remember  to  say 
what  he  does  not  think,  essential  as  the  accomplishment  is 
in  society. 

Winnie  regained  her  own  serenity,  but  could  not  restore 
his.  She  saw  it,  and  in  pity  offered  no  opposition  when  he 
rose  to  go.  But  she  was  gracious,  accompanying  him  to 
the  door,  and  opening  it  for  him  herself.  He  had  just 
shaken  hands  and  put  on  his  hat,  when  he  exclaimed  in  a 
surprised  tone,  "Hullo,  who's  that?" 

The  studio  stood  a  little  back  from  the  street;  a  small 
flagged  forecourt  gave  access  to  it;  the  entrance  was  narrow, 
and  a  house  projected  on  either  side.  To  a  stranger  the 
place  was  not  immediately  easy  to  identify.  Just  opposite 
to  it  now  there  stood  a  woman,  looking  about  her,  as  though 
in  doubt.  When  the  door  opened  and  the  light  of  the  hall 
gas-jet  streamed  out,  she  came  quickly  through  the  gate  of 
the  forecourt  and  up  to  the  house. 

Bob  Purnett  emitted  only  the  ghost  of  a  whistle,  but 

117 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

Winnie  heard  it  and  looked  quickly  at  him.  There  was  no 
time  to  speak  before  the  visitor  came  up. 

"Is  this  Mrs.  Godfrey  Ledstone's  ?"  she  began.  Then, 
with  a  touch  of  surprise,  she  broke  off,  exclaiming,  "Oh, 
you,  Mr.  Purnett!"  It  was  not  surprise  that  he  should  be 
there  at  all,  but  merely  that  she  should  chance  to  come  when 
he  was  there. 

"Yes,  er — how  are  you  ?"  said  Bob.     "  I — I'm  just  going." 

"If  you  know  this  lady,  you  can  introduce  me,"  Winnie 
suggested,  smiling.  "Though  I'm  afraid  I'm  receiving 
you  rather  informally,"  she  added  to  the  visitor.  "I'm 
Mrs.  Ledstone." 

"Yes,"  said  the  visitor.  She  turned  quickly  on  Bob. 
"Mr.  Purnett,  please  say  nothing  about  this  to — to  God- 
frey." 

"It's  his  sister."  Bob  effected  the  introduction  as  briefly 
as  possible,  and  also  as  awkwardly. 

"They  don't  know  I've  come,  you  see."  Amy  Ledstone 
spoke  jerkily. 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,  Miss  Ledstone.  Of  course,  I'm 
safe."  He  looked  desperately  at  Winnie.  "I — I'd  better 
be  off." 

"Yes,  I  think  so.  Good-bye.  Do  come  in,  Miss  Led- 
stone." She  laughed  gently.  "You've  surprised  us  both, 
but  I'm  very  glad  to  see  you,  even  though  they  don't  know 
you've  come.  Good-bye  again,  Mr.  Purnett." 

She  stood  aside  while  Amy  Ledstone  entered  the  house, 
then  slowly  shut  the  door,  smiling  the  while  at  Bob  Purnett. 
After  the  door  was  shut,  he  stood  where  he  was  for  several 
seconds,  then  moved  off  with  a  portentous  shake  of  his  head. 
He  was  amazed  almost  out  of  his  senses.  Godfrey's  sister! 
Coming  secretly!  What  for  ?  More  confusion  of  boun- 

118 


AN    UNMENTIONED    NAME 

claries!  He  thought  that  he  really  had  known  Woburn 
Square  better  than  this.  The  memory  of  his  terrible  slip, 
five  minutes  before  so  mercilessly  acute,  was  engulfed  in  a 
flood  of  astonishment.  He  shook  his  head  at  intervalsall  the 
evening,  till  his  companion  at  dinner  inquired,  with  mock 
solicitude,  where  he  had  contracted  St.  Vitus's  dance,  and 
was  it  catching. 

Amy  Ledstone  was  in  high  excitement.  She  breathed 
quickly  as  she  sat  down  in  the  chair  Winnie  wheeled  for- 
ward. Winnie  herself  stood  opposite  her  visitor,  very  still, 
smiling  faintly. 

"I  came  here  to-day  because  I  knew  Godfrey  wouldn't 
be  here.  Please  don't  tell  him  I  came.  He  won't  be  back 
yet,  will  he  ?" 

"Not  for  an  hour  later  than  this,  as  a  rule." 

"I  left  him  in  Woburn  Square,  you  know." 

Winnie  nodded. 

"And  made  my  way  here." 

"From  what  you  say,  I  don't  suppose  you've  come  just 
to  call  on  me,  Miss  Ledstone  ?" 

"No."  She  paused,  then  with  a  sort  of  effort  brought 
out,  "But  I  have  been  wanting  to  know  you.  Well,  I'd 
heard  about  you,  and — but  it's  not  that." 

"Please  don't  be  agitated  or  distressed.  And  there's  no 
hurry." 

"I  wonder  if  you  know  anything  of  what  daddy — my 
father — and  mother  are  doing — of  what's  going  on  at  home 
— in  Woburn  Square  ?" 

"I  suppose  I  can  make  a  guess  at  it."  She  smiled. 
"First  the  letters,  then  the  visits!  Didn't  you  write  any  of 
the  letters  ?" 

"Yes— some."  She  stirred  restlessly.  "Why  shouldn't  I  ?" 

119 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

"I  haven't  blamed  you.  No  doubt  it's  natural  you 
should.  But  then — why  come  here,  Miss  Ledstone  ?" 

"How  pretty  you  are!"  Her  eyes  were  fixed  intently  on 
Winnie's  face.  "Oh,  it's  not  fair,  not  fair!  It's  not  fair 
to  —  to  anybody,  I  think.  Do  you  know,  your  name's 
never  mentioned  at  home  —  never  —  not  even  when  we're 
alone  ?" 

"That  part  of  it  is  done  in  the  letters,  I  suppose  ?  What 
am  I  called  ?  The  entanglement,  or  the  lamentable  state  of 
affairs — or  what  ?  I  don't  know,  you  see.  If  you  don't 
talk  about  me,  we  don't  talk  much  about  you  here, 
either." 

"Oh,  well,  it  is — bad.  But  that's  not  what  I  meant — not 
all  I  meant,  at  least."  She  suddenly  leaned  forward  in  her 
chair.  "Does  Godfrey  ever  talk  of  the  people  he  meets 
besides  ourselves  ?" 

"No,  never.  I  shouldn't  know  anything  about  them, 
should  I  ?" 

"Has  he  ever  mentioned  Mabel  Thurseley?" 

"Mabel  Thurseley  ?    No.     Who  is  she  ?" 

"  They  live  near  us — in  Torrington  Square.  Her  mother's 
a  widow,  an  old  friend  of  ours." 

"No,  Godfrey  has  never  said  anything  about  Miss 
Thurseley." 

"She's  rather  pretty — not  very,  I  think.  They're  com- 
fortably off.  I  mean,  as  we  think  it.  Not  what  you'd  call 
rich,  I  suppose."  She  was  remembering  Mrs.  Maxon. 

"My  idea  of  riches  nowadays  isn't  extravagant.  But 
please  tell  me  why  you're  talking  to  me  about  Miss  Thurse- 
ley. Did  you  come  here  to  do  that  ?" 

"Yes,  I  did.  You're  never  mentioned  to  her,  either. 
That's  it." 

120 


AN    UNMENTIONED    NAME 

Winnie  had  never  moved  through  the  talk.  Her  slim 
figure,  clad  in  close-clinging  black,  was  outlined  against  the 
gray  wall  of  the  studio. 

"Oh,  that's  it!     I  see." 

"So  I  had  to  come.  Because  how  is  it  right  ?  How  is  it 
decent,  Mrs.  Maxon  ?" 

Winnie  let  the  name  pass — indeed,  hardly  noticed  it. 
"Wouldn't  your  ideas  be  considered  rather  eccentric?"  she 
asked,  with  a  smile. 

"Oh,  I  feel — I  don't  have  ideas,"  murmured  Amy  Led- 
stone. 

"In  your  home  I'm  considered  the  thing  that  exists  but 
isn't  talked  about — that's  done  and  got  over." 

Again  Amy's  fixed  gaze  was  on  her  companion.  "Yes," 
she  said,  more  than  half  assenting  to  Winnie's  description 
of  herself,  yet  with  a  doubt  whether  "thing"  were  wholly 
the  word,  whether,  if  "thing"  were  not  the  word,  the  home 
doctrine  could  be  altogether  right. 

"What  about  her,  then  ?"  she  went  on. 

"What  about—" 

"Why,  Mabel— Mabel  Thurseley." 

"Oh  yes!  Well,  I  suppose  she — she  knows  what  every- 
body knows — she  knows  what  often  happens." 

"Oh,  but  while  it's  absolutely  going  on  here!  They 
might  have  waited  a  little,  at  all  events." 

"You  mean  that — it's  happening?" 

Amy's  figure  rose  erect  in  her  chair  again. 

"Try  and  see  if  you  can  get  him  to  utter  Mabel's  name  to 
you!" 

Winnie  was  struck  with  the  suggestion.  Her  interest  in 
her  visitor  suddenly  became  less  derivative,  more  personal. 
She  looked  at  Amy's  passably  well-favored  features  and 

121 


MRS.  MAXON    PROTESTS 

robust  physique.     There  was  really  nothing  about  her  to 
suggest  eccentric  ideas. 

"Oh,  do  please  sit  down!  Don't  stand  there  as  if  you 
were  turned  to  stone!"  Amy's  appeal  was  almost  a  wail. 
The  slim  figure  was  so  motionless;  it  seemed  arrested  in  its 
very  life. 

"I  like  you.  It's  very  kind  of  you.  I — I'm  trying  to 
think.  ...  I  can't  take  your  word  for  it,  you  know.  I  love 
him — I  trust  him." 

Amy  fidgeted  again  uncomfortably.  "  Daddy  and  mother 
are  always  at  him.  They  think  it — it  will  be  redemption 
for  him,  you  see." 

"Yes,  I  suppose  they  do — redemption!"  Suddenly  she 
moved,  taking  two  steps  nearer  to  Amy,  so  that  she  stood 
almost  over  her.  "And  you  think — ?" 

Amy  looked  up  at  her,  with  tears  in  her  eyes.  "Oh,  I 
don't  know!  What  am  I  to  think  ?  Why  did  you  do  it  ? 
Why  did  you  make  everything  impossible  either  way  ? 
Somebody  must  be  miserable  now!" 

"  Somebody  was  miserable  before — I  was.  And  I've  been 
happy  for  a  bit.  That's  something.  It  seems  to  me  only 
one  person  need  be  miserable  even  now.  Why  is  that 
worse  ?" 

The  clock  struck  six.     Amy  started  to  her  feet  in  alarm. 

"He  might  come  back  a  little  sooner  than  usual — we  finish 
tea  about  half-past  five.     By  the  Tube — "     She  was  ner- 
vously  buttoning   her  jacket.     "If  he   caught   me!"   she' 
murmured. 

"Caught  you  here?" 

"Oh,  how  can  I  go  against  them  ?  I'm  not  married — I 
have  to  live  there." 

Winnie  stretched  out  her  thin  arms.     "Would  you  be 

122 


AN    UNMENTIONED    NAME 

with  me  if  you  could  ?  Would  you,  Amy  ?  I  had  such  a 
bad  time  of  it!  And  he  was  mine  first,  you  know." 

Amy  drew  back  ever  so  little.  "Don't!"  she  gasped. 
"I  really  must  go,  Mrs. — oh,  I  really  must  go!" 

"Yes,  you  must  go.  He  might  come  back  soon  now. 
Shall  we  ever  meet  again,  I  wonder  ?" 

"Oh,  why  did  you?" 

"It's  not  what  I  did.     It's  what  you  think  about  it." 

"Because  you  seem  to  me  wonderful.  You're — you're 
so  much  above  him,  you  know." 

"That  doesn't  help,  even  if  it's  true.  I  should  hate  to 
believe  it." 

"  Good-bye.  You  won't  let  anybody  know  I  came  ?  Oh, 
not  Godfrey  ?" 

"You  may  trust  me — and  Mr.  Purnett,  too,  I  think." 

"Oh  yes;   I  can  trust  him.     Good-bye!" 

Without  offering  her  hand,  far  less  with  any  suggestion  of 
a  more  emotional  farewell,  Amy  Ledstone  drifted  toward  the 
door.  This  time  Winnie  did  not  escort  or  follow  her  guest. 
She  stood  still,  watching  her  departure.  She  really  did  not 
know  what  to  say  to  her;  Amy's  attitude  was  so  balanced — 
or,  rather,  not  balanced,  but  confused.  Yet  just  before  the 
guest  disappeared  she  found  herself  calling  out:  "I  am 
grateful,  you  know.  Because  thinking  as  you  do  about 
me — 

Amy  turned  her  head  for  a  moment.  "Yes,  but  I  don't 
know  that  you'll  come  worst  out  of  it,  after  all,"  she  said. 

Then  Winnie  was  left  alone,  to  wait  for  Godfrey — and  to 
see  whether  he  would  make  mention  of  Mabel  Thurseley's 
name,  that  entirely  new  and  formidably  significant  phe- 
nomenon. 


XII 

CHRISTMAS   IN   WOBURN    SQUARE 

WHEN  holiday  seasons  approach,  people  of  ample 
means  ask,  "Where  shall  we  go  ?";  people  of  narrow, 
"Can  we  go  anywhere?"  The  imminence  of  Christmas 
made  Winnie  realize  this  difference  (no  question  now,  as  in 
days  gone  by,  of  Palestine  and  Damascus);  but  the  edge  of 
it  was  turned  by  a  cordial  invitation  to  spend  Friday  till 
Tuesday  (Saturday  was  Christmas  Day)  at  Shaylor's  Patch. 
Her  eyes  brightened;  her  old  refuge  again  looked  peaceful 
and  comforting.  She  joyfully  laid  the  proposal  before  God- 
frey. He  was  less  delighted;  he  looked  rather  vexed,  even 
a  little  sheepish. 

"They  do  jaw  so,"  he  objected.  "Arguing  about  every- 
thing night  and  day!  It  bores  a  chap." 

"You  weren't  bored  when  you  were  there  in  the  summer." 

"Oh,  well,  that  was  different.  And  I'm  afraid  mother 
will  be  disappointed." 

"About  the  Sunday,  you  mean  ?  Mightn't  you  run  up  for 
the  day?" 

He  laid  his  hand  on  her  shoulder.  "I  say,  I  leave  it  to 
you,  Winnie.  I  leave  it  absolutely  to  you — but  mother's  set 
her  heart  on  my  spending  Christmas  with  them.  I've  never 
missed  a  Christmas  all  my  life,  and — well,  she's  not  very 
well,  and  has  a  fancy  about  it,  you  see." 

124 


CHRISTMAS    IN    WOBURN    SQUARE 

"Do  it,  of  course,  Godfrey.  And  come  down  to  me  on 
Sunday."  Winnie  was  now  determined  that  Woburn 
Square  should  have  no  grievances  except  the  great,  in- 
evitable, insuperable  one. 

"You  are  a  good  sort,  Winnie."     He  kissed  her  cheek. 

"But  I  don't  know  how  you'll  shift  for  yourself  here!" 

"  Oh,  I'll  put  up  in  Woburn  Square  for  a  couple  of  nights, 
and  do  a  theatre  on  Friday  perhaps." 

So  it  was  settled,  with  some  embarrassment  on  Godfrey's 
part,  with  a  faint  smile  on  Winnie's.  He  would  have  two 
nights  and  a  whole  day  at  Woburn  Square;  and  he  had 
never  mentioned  Mabel  Thurseley's  name,  not  even  though 
Winnie  had  made  openings  for  him,  had  tried  some  delicate 
"pumping."  And  with  whom  did  he  think  of  "doing  a 
theatre  "  on  Friday  night  ? 

Godfrey  Ledstone — with  whom  everything  was  to  have 
been  straightforward,  all  aboveboard — found  himself  bur- 
dened with  a  double  secret.  He  couldn't  bring  himself  to 
tell  Winnie  of  Mabel  Thurseley.  In  the  early  days  of  his 
renewed  intercourse  with  Mabel,  he  had  half-heartedly  pro- 
posed to  his  mother  that  the  girl  should  be  informed  of  his 
position;  he  had  been  tearfully  prayed  not  to  advertise  the 
shame  of  his  family.  He  had  lost  any  sort  of  desire  to  ad- 
vertise it  now.  He  could  not  now  imagine  himself  speaking 
of  the  matter  to  Mabel — telling  her,  right  out,  that  he  was 
living  and  meant  to  live  with  a  woman  who  was  not  his  wife 
in  law;  wives  of  any  other  sort  were  so  entirely  outside 
Mabel's  purview.  That  he  had  been  a  bit  of  a  rake — she 
would  understand  that,  and  perhaps  in  her  heart  not  dislike 
it;  but  she  would  not  understand  and  would  thoroughly  dis- 
like Winnie  Maxon.  Anyhow,  by  now  it  was  too  late;  he 
had  played  the  bachelor  too  long — and,  as  a  flattering,  if 

"5 


MRS.  MAXON    PROTESTS 

remorseful,  inner  voice  whispered,  too  successfully — on 
those  Sundays  in  Woburn  Square,  whither  Mabel  often 
came,  whence  it  was  easy  to  slip  across  to  Torrington  Square. 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ledstone  never  grudged  him  an  hour's  leave 
of  absence  if  it  was  spent  in  calling  on  Mrs.  Thurseley, 
their  esteemed  friend  and  neighbor. 

It  was  not  that  he  had  conceived  any  passionate  love  for 
Mabel.  An  amiable,  steady,  rather  colorless  girl,  and  (as 
Amy  Ledstone  said)  not  very  pretty,  she  was  hardly  likely 
to  engender  that.  He  had  not  for  her — and  probably  never 
could  have — the  torrent  of  feeling  which  carried  him  off  his 
feet  at  Shaylor's  Patch,  and  made  him  dare  everything  be- 
cause of  Winnie's  bidding.  And  he  was  still  very  fond  of 
Winnie  herself.  But  the  pull  of  the  world — of  his  old  world 
— was  strong  upon  him;  Mabel  embodied  it.  Bob  Purnett 
had  been  right  about  him;  in  his  scheme  of  life,  after  the 
gayeties  of  youth,  came  "settling  down."  And  when  it 
came  to  seeing  things  as  they  were,  when  the  blurring  mists 
of  passion  lifted,  he  found  it  impossible  to  feel  that  life  with 
Winnie  was  settling  down  at  all.  Life  with  Winnie — was 
that  being  settled,  tranquil,  serene,  ready  to  look  anybody  in 
the  face  ?  No,  it  was  still  to  be  irregular,  to  have  secrets, 
to  be  unable  to  tell  people  with  whom  you  spent  your  time. 
It  was  neither  one  thing  nor  the  other;  it  was  the  bond, 
without  the  guerdon,  of  service;  it  was  defiance  without  the 
pleasures  of  lawlessness. 

Covertly,  persistently,  let  it  in  justice  be  added  lovingly, 
his  mother  and  father  worked  upon  him.  The  old  pair 
showed  diplomacy;  they  made  no  direct  attack  on  Winnie 
nor  upon  his  present  mode  of  life;  they  only  tried  to  let  him 
see  what  a  much  pleasanter  mode  of  life  was  open  to  him, 
and  what  joy  he  would  give  those  who  loved  him  best  in  the 

126 


world  if  only  he  would  adopt  it.  Bringing  gray  hairs  with 
sorrow  to  the  grave — not  -a  pleasant  thing  for  a  son  to  feel 
that  he  is  doing!  Without  scruple  they  used  Mabel 
Thurseley  in  their  game;  without  scruple  they  risked  the 
girl's  happiness;  their  duty,  as  they  saw  it,  was  to  their  son, 
and  they  thought  of  him  only.  Mabel  had  no  throng  of 
suitors  and  none  of  the  arts  of  a  coquette.  The  good-looking 
young  man  soon  made  his  impression,  and  soon  perceived 
that  he  had  made  it.  All  looked  easy,  and  this  time  really 
straightforward.  It  was  a  powerful  assault  to  which  he 
exposed  himself  when  he  once  again  began  to  frequent 
Woburn  Square. 

Amy  Ledstone  looked  on,  irritable,  fretful,  in  scorn  of  her- 
self, calling  herself  a  traitor  for  having  told  Winnie  of  Mabel, 
and  a  coward  for  not  daring  to  tell  Mabel  about  Winnie. 
But  she  dared  not.  A  lifelong  habit  of  obedience,  a  lifelong 
custom  of  accepting  parental  wisdom  even  when  she  chafed 
under  it,  the  tyranny  of  that  weak  heart,  were  too  much  for 
her.  She  lacked  the  courage  to  break  away,  to  upset  the 
family  scheme.  And  to  work  actively  for  Winnie  was  surely 
a  fearful  responsibility,  however  strongly  she  might  pity  her. 
To  work  for  Winnie  was,  in  the  end,  to  range  herself  on  the 
side  of  immorality.  Let  Winnie  work  for  herself!  She  was 
warned  now — that  was  enough  and  more  than  enough.  Yet 
Amy's  sympathy  made  her  cold  and  irritable  to  her  brother. 
He  misconstrued  the  cause  of  her  attitude,  setting  it  down 
to  a  violent  disapproval  of  Winnie  and  a  championship  of 
Mabel  Thurseley.  The  old  people  petted,  Amy  kept  him 
at  arm's  -  length,  but  to  Godfrey  their  end  and  purpose 
seemed  to  be  the  same. 

"Winnie  doesn't  realize  what  I  go  through  for  her,"  he 
often  thought  to  himself,  when  his  sister  was  cross,  when  his 

127 


MRS.  MAXON    PROTESTS 

mother  said  good-bye  to  him  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  when  his 
father  wrung  his  hand  in  expressive  silence,  when  he  man- 
fully made  himself  less  agreeable  than  he  knew  how  to  be  to 
Mabel  Thurseley. 

Yet — and  the  fact  was  significant — in  spite  of  all,  it  was 
with  a  holiday  feeling  that,  after  seeing  Winnie  off  to  Shay- 
lor's  Patch,  he  packed  his  bag  and  repaired  home — he 
thought  of  Woburn  Square  as  home.  He  was  greeted  with 
great  joy. 

"Fancy  having  you  with  us  for  two  whole  days!"  said  his 
mother. 

"Like  old  times!"  exclaimed  his  father,  beaming  with 
smiles  on  the  hearth-rug. 

The  theatre  had  been  arranged  for.  Mrs.  Ledstone's 
health  forbade  her  being  a  member  of  the  party,  but  Mr. 
Ledstone  was  ready  for  an  outing.  Amy  would  go;  and 
Mabel  Thurseley  had  been  invited  to  complete  the  quar- 
tette. Amy  looked  after  her  father,  to  Godfrey  fell  the  duty 
of  squiring  Miss  Thurseley.  They  had  good  seats  in  the 
dress-circle;  Mr.  Ledstone,  Amy,  Mabel,  Godfrey — that 
was  the  order  of  sitting.  The  play  was  a  capital  farce. 
They  all  got  into  high  spirits,  even  Amy  forgetting  to  chide 
herself  and  content  to  be  happy.  Mabel's  life  was  not  rich  in 
gayety;  she  responded  to  its  stimulus  readily.  Her  cheeks 
glowed,  her  eyes  grew  bright  and  challenging.  She  made 
a  new  appeal  to  Godfrey. 

"I  can't  let  her  think  me  a  fool."  So  he  excused  his  at- 
tentions and  his  pleasure  in  them. 

"I  suppose  you  go  a  lot  to  the  theatre,  don't  you  ?"  she 
asked.  "I  expect  you're  blase!" 

"No,  I  don't  go  much." 

"Why  not?    Don't  you  care  about  going  alone  ?" 

128 


CHRISTMAS    IN    WOBURN    SQUARE 

"Now  why  do  you  assume  I  need  go  alone  ?" 

"No,  of  course  you  needn't!  How  silly  of  me!  Do  you 
ever  take — ladies  ?"  She  was  roguish  over  this  question. 

"Yes,  now  and  then." 

"Mamma  wouldn't  let  me  go  alone  with  a  man." 

"Oh,  we  don't  ask  mamma.     We  just  go." 

"Do  you  go  out  somewhere  every  evening  ?" 

"Oh  no.     I  often  stay  at  home,  and  read — or  work." 

He  had  said  nothing  untrue,  but  it  was  all  one  big  lie, 
what  he  was  saying — a  colossal  misrepresentation  of  his 
present  life.  The  picture  his  last  answer  raised  in  her  mind 
— the  man  alone  in  his  lonely  room,  reading  or  working! 
Poor  man,  all  alone! 

"We  girls  get  into  the  way  of  thinking  that  bachelors  are 
always  gay,  but  I  suppose  they're  not  ?" 

"Indeed  they're  not."  Godfrey's  answer  was  decisive 
and  rather  grim. 

"Or  else,"  she  laughed,  "they'd  never  want  to  marry, 
would  they  ?" 

"Anyhow,  one  gets  tired  of  gayety  and  wants  something 
better."  His  eyes  rested  on  hers  for  a  moment.  She 
blushed  a  little;  and  the  curtain  rose  on  the  second  act. 

"How  your  mother  adores  you!"  she  began  at  the  next 
interval.  "She'd  die  for  you,  I  think.  She  says  you're 
the  best  son  in  the  world,  and  have  never  given  her  any 
trouble." 

Godfrey's  conscience  suffered  a  twinge — no  less  for  his 
mother  than  for  himself. 

"I'm  afraid  mothers  don't  know  all  about  their  sons, 
always." 

"No,  I  suppose  not.  But  there  are  some  people  you 
know  you  can  trust." 

129 


MRS.  MAXON    PROTESTS 

"Come,  I  say,  you're  making  me  out  too  perfect  by  half!" 

She  laughed.  "Oh,  I  don't  accuse  you  of  being  a  milk- 
sop. I  don't  like  milksops,  Mr.  Godfrey." 

So  she  went  on,  innocently  showing  her  interest  and  her 
preference,  and  in  the  process  making  Godfrey  feel  that  his 
family  and  himself  were  accomplices  in  a  great  and  heinous 
conspiracy.  But  there  was  still  time  to  get  out  of  it,  to  put 
an  end  to  it.  There  were  two  ways  out  of  it,  just  two  and 
no  more,  thought  Godfrey.  Either  she  must  be  told,  or 
there  must  cease  to  be  anything  to  tell  her. 

But  the  sternest  moralist  would  hardly  demand  that 
momentous  decisions  and  heartrending  avowals  should  be 
made  on  Christmas  Day.  That  surely  is  a  close  time  ?  So 
thought  Godfrey  Ledstone,  and,  the  religious  observances 
of  the  day  having  been  honored  by  all  the  family,  the  rest 
of  it  passed  merrily  in  Woburn  Square.  The  Thurseleys, 
mother  and  daughter,  came  to  spend  the  afternoon,  and 
came  again  to  dinner. 

"So  good  of  you  to  take  pity  on  us,"  said  Mrs.  Thurseley, 
a  soft-voiced,  pleasant  woman,  who  was  placid  and  restful 
and  said  the  right  thing.  She  would  make  an  excellent 
mother-in-law — for  some  man. 

Like  the  old-fashioned  folk  they  were,  they  had  a  snap- 
dragon and  plenty  of  mistletoe  and  plenty  of  the  usual  jokes 
about  both.  As  there  was  nobody  else  on  whom  the  jokes 
could  plausibly  be  fastened  (Mr.  Ledstone's  reminiscences 
of  his  own  courting  tended  toward  the  sentimental,  while 
the  subject  was,  of  course,  too  tender  in  widowed  Mrs. 
Thurseley's  case),  they  were  naturally  pointed  at  Mabel 
and  Godfrey.  Mabel  laughed  and  blushed.  Really,  God- 
frey had  to  play  his  part;  he  could  not  look  a  fool,  who  did 
not  know  how  to  flirt.  He  ended  by  flirting  pretty  hard. 

130 


CHRISTMAS    IN    WOBURN    SQUARE 

He  had  his  reward  in  the  beams  of  the  whole  circle — except 
Amy.  She  seemed  rather  out  of  humor  that  Christmas;  she 
pleaded  a  headache  for  excuse.  When  Mrs.  Ledstone  said 
good-night  to  her  son  she  embraced  him  with  agitated  af- 
fection and  whispered,  "I  feel  happier  than  I've  done  for 
a  long  while,  Godfrey,  darling." 

This  was  the  pressure,  the  assault,  of  love — love  urgent 
and  now  grown  hopeful.  But  his  Christmas  was  not  to  end 
on  that  note.  There  was  also  the  pressure  of  disapproval 
and  of  scorn.  Neither  was  easy  to  bear  to  a  disposition  at 
once  affectionate  and  pliable. 

The  old  people  went  to  bed.  Amy  stayed,  watching  her 
brother  light  his  pipe. 

"Not  going  to  bed,  Amy?     One  pipe,  and  I'm  off!" 

"What  do  you  think  you're  doing  ?" 

He  turned  from  the  fire,  smiling  in  his  disarming  way. 
"  I've  known  all  the  evening  I  was  going  to  catch  it  from  you, 
Amy.  I  saw  it  in  your  eye.  But  what  can  a  fellow  do  ? 
He  must  play  up  a  bit.  I  haven't  actually  said  any- 
thing." 

"What  does  Mabel  think?"  There  was  a  formidable 
directness  about  her.  But  he  had  his  answer,  his  defence 
to  what  he  supposed  to  be  the  whole  indictment. 

"Come  now,  be  fair.  I  wanted  to  tell  her — well,  I 
wanted  her  to  have  a  hint  given  her.  I  told  the  mater  so, 
but  the  mater  wouldn't  hear  of  it.  The  bare  idea  sent  her 
all — well,  absolutely  upset  her." 

The  events  of  the  day  and  the  two  evenings  had  af- 
fected Amy  Ledstone. 

"You  wanted  to  tell  her?    Her?    Which?" 

"Good  Lord,  Amy!"  He  was  knocked  out.  What  a 
question  to  be  asked  in  Woburn  Square!  "Which?"  Had 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

they  both  rights?  Strange  doctrine,  indeed,  for  Woburn 
Square. 

"I  was  speaking  of  Miss  Thurseley,  and  I  think  you  knew 
it." 

"Oh,  I  knew  it." 

"Anything  else  isn't  your  business  at  all.  I  never  under- 
stood why  the  pater  told  you." 

"There  are  just  two  decent  things  for  you  to  do,  God- 
frey— let  Mabel  alone  or  drop  Mrs.  Maxon." 

His  own  feelings,  most  concisely  put,  most  trenchantly 
interpreted!  His  vague  consciousness  that  the  thing  came 
to  that  was  crystallized  into  an  ultimatum.  Against  this  he 
could  not  maintain  his  peevish  resentment  at  his  sister's 
interference  or  his  assumed  prudishness  over  her  talking 
about  Winnie.  The  pretext  of  shame  would  not  serve,  and 
his  weak  nature  turned  for  help  to  a  stronger.  She  was 
sitting  by  the  table,  rigid,  looking  straight  before  her.  He 
sat  down  by  her,  laying  his  pipe  on  the  table. 

"By  Jove,  you're  right!  I'm  in  an  awful  mess.  Which 
is  it  to  be,  Amy  ?" 

"  Oh,  that's  not  my  business.  But  you  needn't  be  a  sneak 
to  both  of  them,  need  you  ?" 

He  laid  his  hand  on  hers,  but  she  drew  hers  away  sharply. 
"You  don't  understand  how  I  was  led  into  it.  I  say,  you're 
not  going  to — to  give  me  away  to  Mabel,  are  you  ?" 

"No.  I'm  afraid  of  father  and  mother.  I  believe  I 
ought  to,  but  I  daren't." 

"I  say,  above  all  things,  for  Heaven's  sake,  don't  think  of 
that!"  ' 

"But  you  say  you  proposed  it  yourself,  Godfrey." 

He  jumped  up  from  his  chair  in  an  agony  of  restlessness. 
He  had  proposed  it,  but  only  as  a  thing  to  be  rejected.  He 

132 


CHRISTMAS    IN    WOBURN    SQUARE 

had  proposed  it,  but  that  was  weeks  ago — when  he  had  not 
been  coming  to  Woburn  Square  for  very  long,  and  had  not 
seen  so  much  of  Mabel  Thurseley.  The  idea  seemed  quite 
different  now.  He  stared  ruefully  at  Amy.  His  entreaty, 
her  reply,  threw  a  cold,  cruel  light  on  the  recent  workings 
of  his  mind.  He  saw  now  where  he  was  going,  where  he 
was  being  led  and  driven,  by  love,  by  scorn,  by  the  world 
he  had  been  persuaded  to  think  himself  strong  enough  to 
defy — his  world,  which  had  only  one  name  for  Winnie 
Maxon. 

He  was  exasperated.  Why  did  the  two  things  rend  him 
asunder,  like  wild  horses  ? 

"Well,  what  is  it  to  be,  Amy  ?"  he  asked  again. 

The  maiden  sister  sat  unmoved  in  her  chair,  her  eyes  set 
on  the  ugly  brown  paper  on  the  wall  opposite.  Her  voice 
came  level,  unimpassioned,  with  a  suggestion  of  dull  de- 
spair. 

"What's  the  good  of  asking  me,  Godfrey?  What  do  I 
know  about  it  ?  Nobody  has  ever  loved  me.  I've  never 
even  been  in  love  myself.  I  don't  know  what  people  do 
when  they're  in  love.  I  don't  know  how  they  feel.  I  sup- 
pose I've  been  awfully  unkind  to  you  ?" 

"Well,  of  course,  a  fellow  isn't  himself."  He  turned 
sharp  round  on  her.  "It  was  only  to  last  as  long  as  we 
both  wanted — as  long  as  we  both  wanted  each  other.  Oh, 
Lord,  how  can  I  talk  about  it,  even  to  you  ?" 

"You  needn't  mind  that.  I've  seen  her.  I  went  to  see 
her.  I  asked  her  if  she  knew  anything  about  Mabel.  She 
didn't.  Does  she  now?  I  think  her  wonderful.  Miles 
above  you  or  me,  really.  Oh,  I  know  she's — she's  whatever 
daddy  and  mother  would  choose  to  call  her.  But  you  made 
her  that — and  you  might  as  well  play  fair,  Godfrey." 

133 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

"I  don't  understand  you,  Amy.  I  thought  you — of  all 
people —  How  in  the  world  did  you  come  to  go  and  see 
her?  When?" 

"One  Sunday,  when  I  knew  you  were  here." 

"She  never  said  a  word  to  me  about — about  Mabel 
Thurseley." 

"She  never  would.  I'm  not  taking  her  part.  But  I 
should  like  my  brother  to  be  a  man." 

"She's  never  told  me  that  you  came.  I  can't  understand 
your  going." 

He  was  opposite  to  her  now.  She  raised  her  eyes  to  his, 
smiling  bitterly. 

"Don't  try.  Still,  she's  a  woman,  and  my  brother's — 
friend." 

"Oh,  you  don't  know  a  thing  about  it!" 

"I  said  so.  I  know  it.  That's  how  it  is  with  girls  like 
me.  Girls!  Oh,  well!  If  I  did  know,  I  might  be  able  to 
help.  I'm  not  your  enemy,  really,  Godfrey." 

"  Everybody  makes  it  fearfully  hard  for  me.  I — I  want  to 
keep  faith,  Amy." 

"You're  not  doing  it." 

He  threw  himself  into  the  big  arm-chair  that  flanked  the 
grate  and  its  dying  fire.  He  broke  out  against  Winnie  in  a 
feeble  peevishness:  "Why  did  she  make  me  do  it?  Any 
fool  could  have  seen  it  would  never  work!" 

"You  needn't  have  done  it,"  she  retorted,  mercilessly. 

"Needn't  have  done  it?  Oh,  you  don't  know  anything 
about  it,  as  you  say.  What  could  you  know  ?  If  you  did 
know,  you'd  understand  how  men — yes,  and  by  George, 
women  too — do  things.  Things  they  can't  stand  by,  and  yet 
want  to,  things  that  are  impossible,  and  yet  have  been  done 
and  have  to  be  reckoned  with.  That's  the  way  it  happens." 

'34 


CHRISTMAS    IN    WOBURN    SQUARE 

Full  of  despair,  his  voice  had  a  new  note  of  sincerity. 
Amy  looked  across  the  table  at  him  with  a  long,  scrutinizing 
gaze. 

"I  expect  I  haven't  allowed  for  all  of  it,"  she  said  at  last. 
"I  expect  I  don't  know  how  difficult  it  is."  She  rose, 
moved  round  the  table,  and  sat  on  the  arm  of  the  big  chair 
beside  him.  "I'm  sorry  if  I've  been  unkind,  dear.  But" — 
she  caressed  his  hair — "don't  be  unkind  to  her — not  more 
than  you  can  help." 

"To  Mabel?"  He  was  looking  up  to  her  now,  and 
whispering. 

"Oh  no,"  she  smiled.  "You're  going  to  marry  Mabel. 
You  aren't  married  to  Mrs.  Maxon,  you  see."  She  kissed 
his  brow.  "Make  it  as  easy  as  you  can  for  Winnie." 

"By  God,  Hove  Winnie!" 

Again  her  hand  smoothed  and  caressed  his  hair.  "Yes, 
but  you  can't  do  it,"  she  said.  "I  don't  think  I  could. 
But  mightn't  you  tell  her  you  can't?  She's  got  more 
courage  than  you  think,  Godfrey."  She  rose  to  her  feet, 
rather  abruptly.  "You  see,  when  she  knows  the  truth 
about  you,  she  won't  care  so  much,  perhaps." 

Her  brother  made  her  no  answer;  he  lay  back  in  the  big 
chair,  staring  at  the  dead  fire.  Nor  did  she  seem  to  have 
any  more  to  say  to  him.  She  had  said  a  good  deal  in  the 
whole  conversation,  and  had  summed  up  a  large  part  of  it  in 
her  last  sentence.  When  Winnie  knew  all  about  him  she 
might  not  care  so  much!  Was  that  true — or  was  it  the 
judgment  of  the  maiden  sister,  who  thought  that  love  was 
dependent  on  esteem  ? 

"I'm  going  to  bed.  I've  been  a  wet  blanket  this  Christ- 
mas, Godfrey." 

"My  Lord,  what  a  Christmas!" 

135 


MRS.  MAXON    PROTESTS 

For  the  capital  farce  and  the  merry  dinner,  the  snap- 
dragon, mistletoe,  and  jokes  were  all  forgotten.  The  woman 
who  knew  nothing  about  the  matter  had  set  the  matter  in  its 
true  light.  With  another  kiss,  a  half-articulate  "My  dear!" 
and  a  sudden  sob,  she  left  him  to  the  contemplation  of  it. 


XIII 

CHRISTMAS   AT    SHAYLOR's   PATCH 

ON  Christmas  Eve  Winnie  had  regained  her  old  haven 
at  Shaylor's  Patch.  It  seemed  as  restful  and  peaceful 
as  ever,  nay,  even  to  an  unusual  degree,  for  the  only  other 
guest  was  Dennehy,  and  Dennehy  and  Alice  (again  home 
for  holidays)  exercised  some  restraining  force  on  sceptical 
argument.  Both  father  and  mother  were  intent  on  giving 
the  child  "  a  good  time,"  and  Stephen  at  least  could  throw 
himself  into  a  game  with  just  as  much  zest  as  into  a  dispute 
or  a  speculation.  Here,  too,  were  holly  and  mistletoe,  and, 
if  not  a  snapdragon,  yet  a  Christmas-tree  and  a  fine  array  of 
presents,  carefully  hidden  till  the  morrow.  As  they  had 
preceded  the  faith,  so  the  old  observances  survived  all 
doubts  about  it. 

But  though  the  haven  was  the  same,  the  mariner  was  in  a 
different  case.  When  she  had  come  before,  Shaylor's  Patch 
had  seemed  the  final  end  of  a  storm-tossed  voyage;  now  it 
was  but  a  harbor  into  which  her  bark  put  for  a  few  hours 
in  the  course  of  a  journey  yet  more  arduous,  a  journey  which 
had  little  more  than  begun;  the  most  she  could  look  for  was 
a  few  hours  of  repose,  a  brief  opportunity  to  rest  and  refit. 
Her  relation  toward  her  friends  and  hosts  was  changed,  as 
it  seemed  to  her,  profoundly;  she  looked  at  Stephen  and 
Tora  Aikenhead  with  new  eyes.  The  position  between  them 

137 


MRS.  MAXON    PROTESTS 

and  her  was  to  her  feelings  almost  reversed.  They  were  no 
longer  the  intrepid  voyagers  to  whose  stories  her  ignorance 
hearkened  so  admiringly.  In  ultimate  truth,  now  newly 
apparent,  they  had  made  no  voyages;  from  the  safe  re- 
cesses of  the  haven  they  did  but  talk  about  the  perils  of  the 
uncharted  sea.  She  was  now  the  explorer;  she  was  making 
the  discoveries  about  which  they  only  gossiped  and  specu- 
lated. She  remembered  Mrs.  Lenoir's  kindly  yet  half- 
contemptuous  smile  over  Stephen's  facile  theories  and  easy 
assurance  of  his  theories'  easy  triumph.  She  was  not  as 
Mrs.  Lenoir  by  the  difference  of  many  years  and  much 
knowledge;  for  Mrs.  Lenoir  still  had  that  same  smile  for 
her.  None  the  less,  something  of  the  spirit  of  it  was  in  her 
when  she  came  the  second  time  to  Shaylor's  Patch. 

But  she  resolved  to  take  her  brief  rest  and  be  thankful 
for  her  respite.  Tora's  benignant  calm,  Stephen's  boyish 
gayety,  the  simplicity  of  the  child,  Dennehy's  loyal  friend- 
ship— here  were  anodynes.  For  the  moment  nothing  could 
be  done ;  why,  then,  fret  and  worry  about  what  to  do  ?  And 
if  she  spoke  of  or  hinted  at  trouble,  might  it  not  seem  to  be 
in  some  sense  like  imputing  a  responsibility  to  her  hosts  ? 
Yet  she  was  asking  much  of  herself  in  this  resolve.  She 
could  hold  her  tongue,  but  she  could  not  bind  her  thoughts. 

In  the  morning  Dennehy  was  off  early  on  a  five-mile  walk 
to  the  nearest  town  to  hear  mass.  The  question  of  attend- 
ing church  Stephen  referred  to  Alice's  arbitrament;  she  de- 
cided in  the  affirmative. 

"Whose  turn  ?"  asked  Stephen  of  his  wife. 

"Mine,"  said  Tora,  with  the  nearest  approach  to  an  ex- 
pression of  discontent  that  Winnie  had  ever  seen  on  her 
face. 

Winnie  stepped  into  the  breach.  "Oh,  you  look  rather 

138 


CHRISTMAS    AT    SHAYLOR'S    PATCH 

tired,  and  we've  a  busy  day  before  us!  Let  me  take  Alice." 
So  it  was  agreed,  and  Alice  ran  off  to  get  ready. 

"Do  you  always  leave  the  question  to  her?" 

"What  else  could  we  do?  We  say  nothing  against  it, 
but  how  could  we  force  her  ?" 

"She's  forced  at  school,  I  suppose?" 

"I  don't  think  any  doubts  suggest  themselves.  It's  just 
part  of  the  discipline.  As  a  fact,  I  think  the  child's  natu- 
rally religious.  If  so — "  He  waved  his  hands  tolerantly. 

Winnie  laughed.  "If  so,  she'll  soon  be  rather  shocked  at 
her  parents." 

"It's  quite  arguable,  Winnie,  that  it's  a  good  thing  for 
children  to  see  their  parents  doing  some  things  which  they 
would  naturally  think — or,  at  any  rate,  be  taught  to  think — 
wrong.  They  know  by  experience  that  the  parents  are,  on 
the  whole,  a  decent  sort — kind  and  so  on — and  they  learn 
not  to  condemn  other  people  wholesale  on  the  strength  of 
one  or  two  doubtful  or  eccentric  practices.  Do  you  see  what 
I  mean  ?  It  promotes  breadth  of  view." 

"I  dare  say  it's  arguable — most  things  are  here — but  I 
won't  argue  it,  or  we  shall  be  late  for  church." 

When  Godfrey  Ledstone  attended  church  with  his  family 
on  the  same  day,  he  went  without  any  questioning,  not  con- 
scious of  any  peculiarity  in  his  attitude  toward  the  Church, 
though  well  aware  of  what  the  Church's  attitude  would  be 
toward  him  if  its  notice  happened  to  be  called  to  the  facts. 
What  of  that?  One  compromised  with  the  Church  just  as 
one  compromised  with  the  world;  the  code  had  provisions  as 
applicable  to  the  one  negotiation  as  to  the  other.  He  did 
not  go  to  church  regularly,  but,  when  he  did,  he  took  part 
in  the  service  with  an  untroubled  gratification,  if  not  with 
any  particular  spiritual  benefit.  On  this  occasion  he 
10  139 


MRS.  MAXON    PROTESTS 

achieved  what  was,  considering  the  worries  which  oppressed 
him,  a  very  creditable  degree  of  attention. 

Neither  was  Winnie — in  the  little  church  at  Nether  End — 
convicted  of  sin;  after  all,  that  is  not  the  particular  note 
sought  to  be  struck  by  a  Christmas  service — the  Church  has 
its  seasons.  But  she  was  overcome  by  an  unnerving  sense 
of  insignificance.  The  sermon  dwelt  on  the  familiar,  yet 
ever-striking,  theme  that  all  over  the  world,  in  well-nigh 
every  tongue,  this  service  was  being  held  in  honor  of,  and  in 
gratitude  for,  the  great  Event  of  this  day.  That  seemed  a 
tremendous  thing  to  stand  up  against.  There  is  majesty  in 
great  organizations,  be  they  spiritual  or  secular.  Are  in- 
significant atoms  to  flout  them  ?  Or  can  the  argument 
from  insignificance  be  turned,  and  the  rebel  plead  that  he 
is  so  small  that  it  does  not  matter  what  he  does  ?  The  or- 
ganizations will  not  allow  the  plea.  Insignificant  as  you 
are,  they  answer,  little  as  your  puny  dissent  affects  us,  yet 
it  is  of  bad  example,  and  if  you  persist  in  it  we  will,  in  our 
way,  make  you  unhappy  and  uncomfortable.  Now,  man- 
kind has  been,  in  the  course  of  its  eventful  history,  from 
time  to  time  convinced  that  many  things  do  matter  and  that 
many  do  not,  and  opinions  have  varied  and  shall  vary  there- 
anent.  But  nobody  has  had  any  real  success  in  convincing 
mankind  that  it  does  not  matter  whether  it  is  happy  or  not — 
in  the  long-run.  Mankind  is  obstinately  of  the  contrary 
opinion. 

At  the  church  door  Dennehy  was  waiting  for  her  and 
Alice — his  mass  heard  and  ten  good  miles  of  country  road 
behind  him — spiritually  and  physically  fortified.  He  was 
not  handsome,  but  middle-age  on  its  approach  found  him 
clean  in  wind  and  limb — temperate,  kindly  (outside  politics), 
and  really  intensely  happy. 

140 


CHRISTMAS    AT    SHAYLOR'S    PATCH 

"It's  a  concession  for  me  to  come  as  far  as  the  door  of 
this  place,"  he  said,  smiling.  Winnie  glanced  warningly 
at  Alice.  "You  needn't  mind  her — the  poor  child  hears 
everything!  But  it's  my  belief  that  Heaven  has  made  her 
a  fine  old  Tory,  and  they  can't  hurt  her." 

"You  approving  of  Tories!  Mr.  Dennehy!"  She  turned 
to  the  child.  "You  liked  it,  Alice  ?" 

"  Didn't  you  hear  me  singing  ?"  It  seemed  a  good  retort. 
Alice  had  sung  lustily.  She  did  not  seem  inclined  to  talk. 
She  walked  beside  them  in  a  demure  and  absent  gravity. 
Over  her  head  they  looked  at  each  other;  the  child  was 
thinking  of  the  story  of  the  Child,  and  finding  it  not  strange, 
but  natural  and  beautiful,  the  greatest  of  all  her  beloved  fairy 
stories — and  yet  true. 

Dennehy  gently  patted  Alice's  shoulder.  "  In  God's  good 
time!"  he  murmured. 

"What  do  you  mean  ?"  Winnie  asked,  in  a  low  voice. 

"True  people  will  find  truth,  and  sweet  people  do  sweet 
things,"  he  answered.  Then  he  laughed  and  snapped  his 
fingers.  "And  the  divvle  take  the  rest  of  humanity!" 

"Everybody  except  the  Irish,  you  mean?" 

"I  mustn't  be  supposed  to  let  in  Ulster,"  he  warned  her 
with  a  twinkle.  "But  there's  an  English  soul  or  two  I'd 
save,  Mrs.  Ledstone." 

"I  don't  like  your  being  false  to  your  convictions.  I've 
one  name  that  I've  not  denied  and  that  nobody  denies  me. 
It's  Winnie." 

"Winnie  it  shall  be  on  my  lips,  too,  henceforth,"  he  an- 
swered. "And  I  thank  you." 

Respect  for  his  convictions  ?  Yes.  But  there  was  more 
behind  her  permission,  her  request.  There  was  a  great 
friendliness,  and,  with  it,  a  new  sense  that  "Mrs.  Winifred 

141 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

Ledstone"  might  prove  to  be  a  transitory  being,  that  the 
title  was  held  precariously.  Why  need  her  chosen  friends 
be  bound  to  the  use  of  it  ? 

Richard  Dennehy  was  by  now  one  of  that  small  band. 
He  was  so  loyal  and  sympathetic,  though  he  was  also  very 
cocksure  in  his  condemnations,  and  terribly  certain  that  he 
and  his  organization  alone  had  got  hold  of  the  right  end  of 
the  stick.  Yet  the  cocksureness  was  really  for  the  organiza- 
tion only;  it  left  him  in  himself  a  humble  man,  not  thinking 
himself  so  clever  as  the  emancipated  persons  among  whom 
he  moved,  rather  regretting  that  such  able  minds  should  be 
so  led  astray.  One  habit  indeed  he  had,  of  which  Stephen 
Aikenhead  would  humorously  complain — he  used  emotion 
as  an  argumentative  weapon.  There  are  words  and  phrases 
which  carry  an  appeal  independent  of  the  validity  of  the  idea 
they  express,  a  strength  born  of  memory  and  association. 
They  can  make  a  man  feel  like  a  child  again,  or  make  him 
feel  a  traitor,  and  either  against  his  reason. 

"Spells  and  incantations  I  call  them,"  said  Stephen,  "and 
I  formally  protest  against  their  use  in  serious  discussion." 

"And  why  do  you  call  them  that?" 

"Because  they  depend  for  their  effect  on  a  particular 
form  of  words — either  a  particularly  familiar  or  a  particu- 
larly beautiful  formula.  If  you  expressed  the  same  idea 
in  different  language,  its  power  would  be  gone;  at  least,  it 
would  seem  just  as  legitimately  open  to  question  as  any  pro- 
fane statement  that  I  may  happen  to  make.  Now  to  depend 
for  its  efficacy  on  the  exact  formula  and  not  on  the  force  of 
the  idea  is,  to  my  mind,  the  precise  characteristic  of  a  spell, 
charm,  or  incantation,  Dick." 

"I  dare  say  the  holy  words  make  you  uncomfortable,  my 
boy!" 

142 


CHRISTMAS    AT    SHAYLOR'S    PATCH 

"Exactly!  And  is  it  fair?  Why  am  I,  a  candid  inquirer, 
to  be  made  uncomfortable  ?  Prove  me  wrong,  convince  me 
if  you  can,  but  why  make  me  uncomfortable  ?" 

Winnie,  an  auditor  of  the  conversation,  laughed  gently. 
"I  think  that's  what  you  tried  to  do  to  me,  coming  back 
from  church — when  you  talked  about 'God's  good  time,' I 
mean." 

Dennehy  scratched  his  head.  "  I  don't  do  it  on  purpose. 
They  just  come  to  my  lips.  And  who  knows  ?  It  might 
be  good  for  you!" 

Alice  ran  in,  announcing  that  it  was  time  for  the  Christmas- 
tree.  Even  at  Shaylor's  Patch  discussion  languished  for  the 
rest  of  the  day,  and  Winnie  had  her  hours  of  respite. 

Indeed,  it  was  a  matter  of  hours  only;  peace  was  not  to 
endure  for  her  even  over  the  Sunday.  Early  in  the  morning 
the  maid  brought  her  a  telegram  from  Godfrey  Ledstone: 
"Caught  slight  chill.  Think  better  not  travel.  Don't  in- 
terrupt visit.  Shall  stay  Woburn  Square. — GODFREY." 

It  was  significant  of  how  far  her  mind  had  forecast  prob- 
abilities that  she  brushed  aside  the  excuse  without  a  mo- 
ment's hesitation.  Does  an  hour's  journey  on  a  mild  morn- 
ing frighten  a  strong  man  if  he  really  wants  to  go  ?  At  any 
rate,  Winnie  was  not  inclined  to  give  Godfrey  the  benefit  of 
that  doubt.  He  did  want  to  stay  in  Woburn  Square,  or  he 
did  not  want  to  come  to  Shaylor's  Patch.  Whichever  way 
it  was  put,  it  came  to  much  the  same  thing.  It  was  another 
defeat  for  her,  another  victory  for  the  family.  And  for 
Mabel  Thurseley?  That,  too,  seemed  very  likely.  Her 
heart  quailed  in  grief  and  apprehension,  as  it  looked  into  a 
future  forlorn  and  desolate;  but  not  for  a  moment  did  she 
think  of  giving  up  the  struggle.  Instead  of  that,  she  would 
fight  more  resolutely,  more  fiercely.  This  was  not  the  com- 

«43 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

mon  case  of  a  variable  man's  affections  straying  from  one 
woman  to  another.  She  knew  that  it  was  his  courage  which 
had  failed  first,  and  by  its  failure  undermined  the  bastion  of 
his  love.  He  had  been  ashamed  of  her  first;  if  he  had  now 
ceased — or  begun  to  cease — to  love  her,  it  was  because  she 
made  him  ashamed  before  his  family  and  friends,  because 
she  put  him  "in  a  false  position"  and  made  things  awkward 
and  uncomfortable.  That  he  felt  like  that  was  in  part — nay, 
largely — her  own  fault.  Either  from  mistaken  confidence 
or  chivalry  or  scruple,  or  a  mixture  of  the  three,  she  had  ex- 
posed him,  unsupported,  to  the  fullest  assault  of  Woburn 
Square  and  of  all  it  represented.  She  had  been  wrong;  she 
should  have  stood  on  her  rights  and  forbidden  him  to  go 
there  unless  she  were  received  also.  At  the  beginning  she 
could  have  done  it;  she  ought  to  have  done  it.  Was  it  too 
late  to  do  it  now  ? 

She  formed  a  plan  of  campaign.  She  would  take  him 
away,  put  the  sea  between  him  and  his  people,  the  sea  be- 
tween him  and  Mabel  Thurseley.  There  was  money  in  the 
till  sufficient  for  a  holiday.  His  very  weakness,  his  respon- 
siveness to  his  surroundings,  favored  success.  He  would 
recover  his  courage,  and  henceforward  a  ban  should  rest  on 
his  family  till  his  family  removed  its  ban  from  her. 

There  was  no  church  for  her  that  morning;  she  was  not 
in  the  mood.  Stephen  had  to  go,  since  Tora  sophistically 
maintained  that  she  had  attended  by  proxy  the  day  before. 
Winnie  strolled  with  Dick  Dennehy,  when  he  came  back 
from  his  early  expedition. 

"It's  funny  we're  such  friends,  when  you  think  me  so 
wicked,"  she  said. 

f  You're  not  wicked,  though  you  may  do  a  wicked  thing — 
through  wrongheadedness." 

144 


CHRISTMAS    AT    SHAYLOR'S    PATCH 

"You  can't  understand  that  I  look  on  myself  as  Godfrey's 
wife  for  all  my  life  or  his." 

"Didn't  you  once  think  the  same  about  Mr.  Maxon  ?" 

"Oh,  you  really  are — !"     Winnie  laughed  irritably. 

"And  you  ran  away  from  him.  What  happens  if  Master 
Godfrey  runs  away  from  you  ?" 

Winnie  glanced  at  him  sharply.  Rather  odd  that  he 
should  put  that  question!  Was  there  any  suspicion  among 
her  friends,  any  at  Shaylor's  Patch  ? 

"Because,"  Dennehy  continued,  "you  wouldn't  go  on 
from  man  to  man,  being  married  to  each  of  'em  for  life 
temporarily,  would  you  ?" 

Winnie  laughed,  if  reluctantly.  But  there  is  hardly  any- 
thing that  a  ready  disputant  cannot  turn  to  ridicule. 

"How  you  try  to  pin  people  down!"  she  complained. 
"You  and  your  principles!  I  know  what  I  should  like  to 
see  happen,  Mr.  Dennehy." 

"Ah,  now — 'Dick' —  as  a  mere  matter  of  fairness, 
Winnie!" 

"Well,  Dick,  what  I  should  just  love  to  see  is  you  in  love 
with  somebody  who  was  married,  or  had  been  divorced,  or 
something  of  that  sort,  and  see  how  you'd  like  your  principles 
yourself."  She  looked  mischievous  and  very  pretty. 

Dennehy  shook  his  head.  "We're  all  miserable  sinners. 
But  I  don't  believe  I'd  do  it." 

"What,  fall  in  love,  or  give  way  to  it  ?" 

"The  latter.  The  former's  out  of  any  man's  power,  I 
think." 

"What  would  you  do  ?" 

"Emigrate  to  America." 

"Out  of  the  frying-pan  into  the  fire!  It's  full  of  divorced 
people,  isn't  it  ?" 

145 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

"Not  the  best  Irish  society."  He  laughed.  "Well,  you're 
chaffing  me." 

"Oh  no,  I'm  not.  I'm  serious.  I  should  like  to  see  the 
experiment.  Dick,  if  Godfrey  does  run  away,  as  you  kindly 
suggest,  give  me  a  wide  berth!  Oh,  is  it  quite  impossible 
that,  if  I  tried,  I  might — make  you  miserable  ?" 

"If  you'll  flirt  with  me  after  this  fashion  every  time  we 
meet,  I'll  not  be  miserable — I'll  be  very  happy." 

"Ah,  but  that's  only  the  beginning!  The  beginning's 
always  happy." 

The  sadness  in  her  voice  struck  him.  "You  poor  dear! 
You've  had  bad  luck,  and  you've  fallen  among  evil  counsel- 
lors, in  which  term,  Heaven  forgive  me,  I  include  my  dear 
friends  here  at  Shaylor's  Patch." 

"I'll  try  your  principles  another  way.  If  you  were  God- 
frey, would  you  leave  me — now  ?" 

He  twisted  his  mustache  and  hesitated.  "Well,  there  you 
have  me,"  he  admitted  at  last.  "  If  a  man  does  what  he  did, 
as  a  gentleman  he  must  stand  to  be  damned  for  it." 

"Godfrey's  free  to  go,  of  course — that's  our  bargain. 
But  you  wouldn't  have  made  a  bargain  like  that  ?" 

"I  would  not,  Winnie.  To  do  me  justice,  I  believe  I'd 
think  it  enough  to  be  ruining  one  woman,  without  providing 
for  my  liberty  to  ruin  another  as  soon  as  I  wanted  to." 

Winnie  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm  for  a  moment.  "How 
pleasantly  we  quarrel!"  she  said. 

"And  why  wouldn't  we  ?"  he  asked,  with  native  surprise 
that  a  quarrel  should  be  considered  a  thing  inherently  un- 
pleasant. "Ah,  here  come  Stephen  and  Alice,  back  from 
church!  I'll  go  and  run  races  with  her,  and  get  an  appetite 
for  lunch." 

Stephen  lounged  up,  his  pipe  in  full  blast. 

146 


CHRISTMAS    AT    SHAYLOR'S    PATCH 

"Stephen,  how  is  it  that  this  old  world  gets  on  at  all,  with 
everybody  at  loggerheads  with  everybody  else  ?" 

"I've  often  considered  that.  The  solution  is  economic — 
purely  economic,  Winnie.  You  see,  people  must  eat." 

"  So  far  the  Court  is  with  you,  Stephen." 

"And  in  anything  except  a  rudimentary  state  of  society 
they  must  feed  one  another.  Because  no  man  has  the  genius 
to  make  for  himself  all  the  things  he  wants  to  eat.  Conse- 
quently— I  put  the  argument  summarily — you  will  find  that, 
broadly  speaking,  all  the  burning  and  bludgeoning  and  fight- 
ing, all  the  killing,  in  short,  and  equally  all  the  refraining 
from  killing,  are  in  the  end  determined  by  the  consideration 
whether  your  action  one  way  or  the  other  will  seriously  affect 
your  supply  of  food — to  which,  in  civilized  society,  you  may 
add  clothes,  and  so  on." 

"Does  that  apply  to  the  persecution  of  opinions  ?" 

"Certainly  it  does — usually  byway  of  limitation  of  killing, 
though  an  exception  must  be  made  for  human  sacrifice. 
There  have  been  temporary  aberrations  of  judgment,  but, 
generally  speaking,  they  never  killed  more  than  a  decent 
minimum  of  any  useful  heretics — not,  anyhow,  where  secular 
statesmen  had  the  last  word.  They  had  to  make  some  kind 
of  a  show,  of  course,  to  satisfy,  as  they  supposed,  their 
superior  officers.  Still  —  they  left  a  good  many  Jews, 
Winnie!" 

"Wasn't  that  the  spread  of  toleration  ?" 

"Certainly  —  toleration  based  on  food  originally,  and 
afterward  perhaps  reinforced  by  doubt."  He  broke  into  a 
laugh.  "But  even  to-day  I'm  hanged  if  I'd  trust  to  the 
doubt  without  the  food!"  He  beamed  on  her.  "I'll  tell 
you  a  secret — religion's  all  food,  Winnie." 

Winnie  had  asked  for  the  exposition — but  she  had  had 

M7 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

enough  of  it.  Even  Stephen's  last — and  rather  startling — 
thesis  failed  to  draw  further  inquiries. 

"It  seems  to  follow  that  we  oughtn't  to  keep  lunch  wait- 
ing," she  said,  laughing,  as  she  put  her  arm  through  his. 
"I  do  love  Shaylor's  Patch,"  she  went  on,  gently  patting  his 
arm.  "You  can  always  forget  yourself  and  your  troubles 
by  talking  nonsense — or  sense — about  something  or  other. 
If  I  come  to  grief  again" — her  voice  shook  for  an  instant — 
"you'll  give  me  a  shed  to  lie  in  here,  won't  you,  Stephen  ?" 

"My  poor  house  is  thine,  and  all  that  is  in  it,"  he  an- 
swered, Orientally. 

"Yes,  in  a  way  I  know  it  is — and  so  I  needn't  quite 
starve,"  said  Winnie. 


XIV 

A   COUNSEL   OF   PERFECTION 

TO  Winnie's  few  but  devoted  adherents  Cyril  Maxon 
was  not  a  man,  but  a  monster,  a  type  of  tyranny,  the 
embodied  symbol  of  an  intolerable  servitude;  even  Dick 
Dennehy,  stanch  champion  of  the  institution,  had  no 
charity  for  the  individual.  Needless  to  say  that  this  was 
not  at  all  the  view  Mr.  Maxon  took  of  himself,  and  not  en- 
tirely the  judgment  which  an  impartial  observer  would  form 
of  him.  There  were  many  women  with  whom  he  might 
have  got  on  very  well,  women  of  a  submissive  temper,  meek 
women,  limited  women,  sly  women  who  hoodwinked  under 
a  show  of  perfect  obedience.  He  would  not  have  been  hard 
to  hoodwink,  had  Winnie  been  content  to  attack  her  problem 
in  that  old-fashioned  way.  Or,  again,  an  extremely  clever 
and  diplomatic  woman — but  she  can  make  a  good  husband 
out  of  the  rawest  of  raw  material,  mere  flesh  and  bone  with 
(as  Stephen  Aikenhead  would  certainly  have  added)  the 
economic  prerequisite. 

From  the  moment  that  his  wife  had  identified  herself  with 
the  Ledstone  family — his  memory  of  Mr.  Ledstone  was 
vivid  and  horrible — he  had  set  aside  the  idea  that  she  would 
soon  "have  had  enough  of  it."  It  was  no  longer  in  his 
power  to  hold  to  that  conclusion.  Now  it  was  he  himself 
who  had  had  more  than  enough  of  it.  She  was  done  with. 

149 


MRS.  MAXON    PROTESTS 

He  took  up  his  life  alone.  At  first  he  sought  to  mitigate 
solitude  by  constant  work.  It  was  not  a  complete  success. 
Then  he  installed  an  unmarried  sister  in  his  house.  She  was 
his  senior;  her  temper  was  akin  to  his;  the  experiment  lasted 
just  a  month,  after  which  Miss  Maxon  returned  to  Broad- 
stairs.  Then  gradually  he  began  to  seek  society  again,  to 
show  his  face  at  his  old  resorts,  to  meet  the  women  who  ad- 
mired him,  who  gushed  over  him  as  interesting,  clever,  and 
rising.  They  gushed  still  more  now,  hinting,  each  with  what 
degree  of  delicacy  nature  had  given  her,  their  sympathy  with 
him  and  their  unlimited  astonishment  at  the  folly  and  per- 
verseness  of  Mrs.  Maxon.  He  found  this  the  most  effective 
specific  that  he  had  tried. 

It  would  be  unpardonably  rash  to  generalize,  but  it  may 
be  hazarded  that  in  some  cases  the  man  who  treats  his  wife 
worst  misses  her  most.  A  comrade  can  perhaps  be  replaced, 
a  new  slave  is  hard  to  come  by.  Besides,  Cyril  Maxon's 
principles  forbade  the  search  for  one,  and  now  he  had  to 
apply  his  principles  to  his  own  case.  A  year  ago  nothing  in 
the  whole  world  would  have  seemed  so  unlikely — Fate  at  its 
pranks  again!  It  makes  us  pay  for  sins  and  principles  alike 
— perhaps  the  best  way  (with  deference  to  the  a  priori  philos- 
ophers) of  learning  to  appraise  either. 

Cyril  Maxon  was  very  rising  by  now;  people  called  him  a 
certainty  for  a  judgeship  in  some  ten  years'  time  (he  was 
only  thirty-eight);  and  the  ladies  were  very  sympathetic. 
Several  of  them  were  members  of  Mr.  Attlebury's  congrega- 
tion and  the  personal  friends  of  that  genial  but  exacting 
apostle.  Some  of  the  ladies  wondered  how  Mr.  Attlebury 
could  be  so  responsive  and  yet  so  definitely  restricted  in  his 
responsiveness;  they  thought  of  his  demeanor  as  of  an  occult 
art,  and  might  have  been  right  had  they  stopped  at  calling 

150 


A    COUNSEL    OF    PERFECTION 

it  esoteric.  Attlebury  himself  felt  no  difficulty,  not  even  a 
consciousness  of  effort.  He  met  them  in  absolute  intimacy 
of  soul  to  soul.  Happily  in  all  creeds — and  discreeds — there 
are  men  and  women  who  can  do  it. 

At  first  Cyril  Maxon  had  refused  to  talk  about  his  mis- 
fortune, which,  of  course,  soon  became  public  property,  and 
the  hints  about  it  had  to  be  almost  impossibly  delicate.  But, 
as  time  went  on,  he  found  two  or  three  friends  to  whom  he 
could,  more  or  less,  open  his  heart.  There  was  Mrs.  Ladd, 
an  elderly  woman  with  hearty,  kindly  ways  and  a  mind 
shrewdly  matter  of  fact.  There  was  Miss  Fortescue,  one 
of  Attlebury's  best  "workers,"  a  benevolent,  sensible  spin- 
ster of  five-and-forty.  There  was  also  Lady  Rosaline  Deer- 
ing,  daughter  of  a  Scotch  peer,  widow  of  a  Colonial  Ad- 
ministrator. She  was  a  woman  of  three-and-thirty,  or 
thereabouts,  tall  and  of  graceful  carriage}  her  nose  was  too 
long,  and  so  was  her  chin,  but  she  had  pretty  hair  and  fine 
eyes.  She  was  a  bit  of  a  blue-stocking  and  dabbled  in 
theology  and  philosophy.  "Not  afraid  to  think  for  my- 
self," was  the  way  in  which  she  defined  her  attitude,  in  con- 
tradistinction (as  she  implied)  from  the  attitude  of  most  of 
the  women  who  sat  at  Mr.  Attlebury's  feet.  She  admired 
Attlebury,  but  she  thought  for  herself. 

"One  can't  quite  give  up  one's  reason,"  she  would  say 
with  a  winning  smile.  "Besides,  I  was  brought  up  in  the 
Church  of  Scotland,  you  know."  This  ecclesiastical  origin 
seemed  to  give  her  independence;  she  paid  only  so  much 
voluntary  allegiance  as  she  chose  to  Attlebury  and  his 
Church;  she  could,  in  case  of  need,  fall  back  on  her  Church 
of  origin,  as  though  on  a  domicile  never  finally  forfeited. 
Also  in  her  husband's  lifetime  she  had  seen  the  cities  of  men 
and  known  their  minds.  In  fact,  she  might  be  considered 


MRS.  MAXON    PROTESTS 

emancipated,  and  her  adherence  to  Mr.  Attlebury's  school 
was.  rather  aesthetic  than  dogmatic;  she  thought  that  re- 
ligion should  be  invested  with  beauty,  but  she  was  not  afraid 
to  talk  of  some  of  its  doctrines  as  possibly  "symbolic." 

All  the  three  ladies  took  a  great  interest  in  Maxon,  but 
by  common  consent  the  first  place  was  yielded  to  Lady 
Rosaline.  Mrs.  Ladd  could  fortify  him,  Miss  Fortescue 
could  cheer  him  up;  they  both  recognized  that  Lady  Rosa- 
line could  do  something  else,  a  subtle  thing  into  which 
femininity  entered  more  specifically;  one  of  the  things  which 
Mrs.  Maxon  ought  to  have  given  him,  but  obviously  had 
not;  perhaps  something  like  what  Lady  Rosaline  herself 
derived  from  Attlebury's  church  services,  a  blend  of  intel- 
lectual and  aesthetic  satisfaction.  Mrs.  Ladd  and  Miss 
Fortescue  were  weak  in  the  aesthetic  element.  Moreover, 
there  was  a  special  bond  of  sympathy  between  Lady  Rosaline 
and  Maxon.  The  late  Colonial  Administrator  had  been  by 
no  means  all  that  he  should  have  been  as  a  husband,  and 
when  death  severed  the  union  it  was  but  a  very  slender 
string  that  its  shears  cut. 

Mrs.  Ladd  and  Miss  Fortescue  had  hinted  at  this  sad 
story;  Lady  Rosaline  herself  told  it,  though  in  reticent  out- 
line only,  to  Cyril  one  evening  in  November  when  he  hap- 
pened to  have  leisure  to  go  to  tea  with  her  at  her  flat  in  Hans 
Place. 

"It's  a  terrible  thing  to  have  to  say,  but  really  his  death 
— poor  fellow! — ended  a  situation  which  had  become  almost 
unendurable  to  any  woman  of  fine  feelings.  He  was  never 
rude  or  unkind  to  me,  but  one's  pride!  And  the  solitude  of 
the  soul,  Mr.  Maxon!" 

"Still  you  endured  it  bravely."  His  tone  subtly  asked 
sympathy,  while  his  words  gave  it. 

152 


A    COUNSEL    OF    PERFECTION 

"I  wonder  if  I  could  have  gone  on!  I  should  shock 
Mr.  Attlebury,  I  suppose,  but  I  thought  more  than  once 
of  divorce.  Our  home — when  we  were  at  home — had  al- 
ways been  in  Scotland.  That  would  have  made  it  easier, 
and  it  needn't  have  hurt  his  career  anything  like  so  much. 
He  could  just  have  left  me  and  stayed  away  the  necessary 
time,  you  see.  After  the  last — the  last  trouble — -he  offered 
me  that,  if  I  wished  it." 

"You  must  have  been  under  a  considerable  temptation." 

"Yes.  But  then  his  health  began  to  fail,  and — and 
things  were  different.  I  had  to  stay  and  look  after  him; 
and  so  we  became  better  friends  at  the  end.  I  really  don't 
bear  malice  now." 

"  I  think  with  Attlebury  on  that  question,  you  know." 

"Yes,  I  suppose  you  do.  But,  then,  isn't  there — room  for 
doubt  ?" 

"I  scarcely  think  so,  Lady  Rosaline." 

"Oh,  but  it  is  hard  sometimes,  then!"  she  murmured, 
looking  into  the  fire.  "Do  you  think  there's  nothing  in  the 
view  that  the  offence  itself  is  a  dissolution  ?  . .  .  That  it's  the 
offender  himself — or  herself— who  puts  asunder,  not  the 
judge,  who  merely  deals  with  the  legal  consequences  ?" 

"No,  I  can't  see  that."  He  paused,  frowning,  then  went 
on,  "I  can  understand  a  man  maintaining  that  it's  given 
as  a  counsel  of  perfection,  rather  than  an  absolutely  binding 
rule — I  mean,  that  a  man  should  try,  but,  if  it  proves  beyond 
his  strength,  he  might  not  be  absolutely  condemned." 

"Does  it  hurt  you  to  talk  about  it  ?" 

"Not  to  people  who  understand." 

"How  strange  she  didn't  understand  you  better!  Do  you 
mind  my  saying  that  ?" 

"If  I'd  ever  had  any  doubts  about  the  substantial  rights 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

of  the  matter,  her  subsequent  proceedings  would  have  dis- 
pelled them  completely." 

"Yes,  they  throw  a  light  back,  don't  they?" 
Cyril  Maxon  threw  more  light,  setting  forth  the  prepos- 
terous charges  which  his  wife  had  levelled  against  him  be- 
fore she  went  away.  He  put  them  as  honestly  as  he  could; 
they  were  to  him  so  unreasonable  that  he  was  not  in  the 
least  afraid  to  submit  them  to  an  impartial  judge.  They 
seemed  just  as  unreasonable  to  Lady  Rosaline.  She  was  as 
secure  of  herself  as  was  Mrs.  Lenoir;  she  was  not  afraid  of 
being  "  crushed."  (Perhaps  being  "  Lady  Rosaline  "  helped 
her  a  little  there.)  And  Winnie's  alleged  grievances  fell  so 
short  of  her  own  tale  of  wrongs  as  to  seem  a  ridiculously  in- 
adequate excuse. 

"  I  can't  understand  her  any  more  than  you  can,"  she  said. 
"There's  really  no  use   in  saying  any  more  about  her, 
Lady  Rosaline.     It's  a  matter  of  character." 

"And  she's  actually  with  this  man  Ledstone  now?" 
He  spread  out  his  hands  and  bowed  his  head.     It  was  both 
answer  and  comment  enough. 

"They'd  marry,  I  suppose,  if  they  could  ?" 
Cyril  Maxon  was  not  quick  at  marking  the  delicate  shades 
of  a  woman's  mood;  there  at  least  Winnie  was  right.  He 
did  not  now  detect  the  underlying  note  of  pity  in  Lady 
Rosaline's  voice.  It  was,  indeed,  no  more  than  hinted.  He 
made  another  gesture — this  time  of  pronounced  impatience 
and  distaste.  Lady  Rosaline  smiled  faintly  and  changed 
the  subject. 

When  he  had  left  her,  she  sat  on  by  the  fire,  musing.  She 
was  a  widow  with  few  happy  memories  and  no  fond  regrets; 
she  was  childless;  in  spite  of  her  high  connections  she  was 
by  no  means  rich;  she  could  not  afford  to  travel  much  in  the 


A    COUNSEL    OF    PERFECTION 

style  she  desired,  or  to  entertain  much.  And  she  was  thirty- 
three.  Surveying  her  position  as  a  whole,  she  did  not  take 
a  roseate  view  of  it.  "  I'm  bound  to  drop  out  in  a  few  years  " 
— that  was  how  she  summed  up  her  prospects,  not  a  cheer- 
ful summary,  it  must  be  admitted.  She  had  not  the  con- 
tentment of  a  Mrs.  Ladd  nor  the  philanthropic  zeal  of  a 
Miss  Fortescue.  She  had  a  good  deal  of  ambition,  a  love  of 
luxury,  and  (as  has  been  said)  a  commendable  self-confi- 
dence. Masterful  herself  under  all  her  graceful  gentleness, 
she  liked  rather  than  feared  masterful  men;  Cyril  Maxon 
attracted  her  none  the  less  because  he  had  "crushed" 
Winnie.  "A  poor  little  thing  like  that!"  So  ran  her  ver- 
dict on  Winnie,  whom  she  had  met  half  a  dozen  times.  And 
he  was  very  rising.  She  found  herself  recalling  the  precise 
words  that  he  had  used  about  "a  counsel  of  perfection." 

It  needs  little  acuteness  to  detect  a  congruity  between  the 
interpretation  of  a  rule  as  a  counsel  of  perfection  and  the 
doctrine  of  the  limits  of  human  endurance.  In  fact,  they 
come  to  very  much  the  same  thing,  and  are  invoked,  rightly 
or  wrongly,  plausibly  or  unplausibly,  on  much  the  same  oc- 
casions and  under  very  similar  circumstances.  If  a  man 
strikes  you  lightly  on  one  cheek,  you  turn  the  other.  But 
if  he  strikes  the  first  cheek  very  hard  ?  If  he  forces  you  to 
go  a  mile  with  him,  will  you  go  with  him  twain  ?  Does  the 
amenity  of  the  road  make  no  difference  ?  If  he  takes  your 
coat,  shall  he  take  your  cloak  also  ?  Something  might  turn 
on  the  relative  value  of  the  two  garments.  In  such  cases 
the  human  race  makes  accommodations;  and  accommoda- 
tions are  not  confined  to  any  one  class  of  thinkers. 

Cyril  Maxon  had  afforded  scant  countenance  to  Lady 
Rosaline's  suggestion  that  the  offender  himself  severed  the 
tie.  She  had  picked  it  up  from  an  article  of  Catholic  com- 
11  155 


MRS.  MAXON    PROTESTS 

plexion,  which  set  out  the  authorities  for  it  only  to  confute 
them.  His  logical  mind  saw  that  the  position  implied 
rather  startling  consequences;  for  if  an  act  can  sever,  an  act 
can  bind.  But  he  did  not  so.easily  or  readily  reject  his  own 
idea  of  the  counsel  of  perfection.  Arguing  before  a  court, 
he  could  have  made  a  good  case  for  it.  Argued  in  the  forum 
of  his  own  conscience,  it  found  pleas  and  precedents.  Yet 
it  was  slowly  that  it  gained  even  a  hearing  from  the  judge, 
and  only  by  much  dexterous  pleading;  for  at  first  sight  the 
authorities  to  which  he  bowed  were  all  against  it.  They  had 
seemed  absolutely  and  immediately  conclusive  on  the  morn- 
ing when  Mr.  Ledstone  called  in  the  Temple.  "No  pro- 
ceedings!" Save  as  a  record  of  his  own  attitude,  Maxon 
attached  no  importance  to  the  utterance  so  charged  with 
relief  to  its  auditor.  It  was  in  no  sense  a  pledge;  it  was 
merely  an  expression  of  present  intention.  On  what  con- 
ceivable theory  had  that  Ledstone  family  any  right  to 
pledges  from  him  ?  If  a  pledge  at  all,  it  was  one  to  himself 
and  to  the  school  of  thought  to  which  he  belonged.  To  the 
Ledstones  ?  Never! 

So  the  slow,  hidden  current  of  his  feelings  began  to  bore 
for  itself  a  new  channel — away  round  the  rock  of  principle 
that  barred  direct  advance.  Another  change  there  was  in 
him.  A  woman — his  wife — had  gibbeted  him  as  a  man  im- 
possible to  live  with.  He  was  secretly,  almost  unconsciously, 
afraid  of  the  world's  agreeing  with  her.  Seeking  sympathy, 
he  tried  to  manifest  it;  afraid  of  being  misunderstood,  he 
embarked  on  an  effort  to  be  understanding.  He  made  a 
fair  success  of  it.  People  said  that  he  was  human,  after  all, 
and  that  Mrs.  Maxon  ought  to  have  seen  it.  The  work 
which  Winnie  had  done  redounded  to  her  discredit;  it  is  not 
an  uncommon  case.  The  rebels  are  shot,  flogged,  or  have 

156 


A    COUNSEL    OF    PERFECTION 

to  fly  the  kingdom.  But  reforms  are  introduced  into  the 
administration,  and  these  make  the  rebels  seem  more  guilty 
still — because,  of  course,  the  reforms  were  just  going  to  be 
introduced,  anyhow,  if  only  the  rebels  would  have  had  a 
little  faith,  a  little  patience.  Who  has  not  read  it  a  score  of 
times  in  the  newspapers  ? 

"That  little  wife  of  his  can't  have  known  how  to  manage 
a  man,"  said  old  Mrs.  Ladd,  who  had  owned  two  husbands, 
the  first  an  overfestive  soul,  the  second  a  hypochondriac. 

"The  Vicar  has  the  highest  opinion  of  him,"  remarked 
Miss  Fortescue. 

Mrs.  Ladd  smiled.  "He  won't  have  such  a  high  opinion 
of  him  if  he  goes  gadding  after  Rosaline  Deering." 

Miss  Fortescue  was  shocked  and  interested.  "My  dear, 
is  there  any  chance  of  that  ?" 

Mrs.  Ladd  pursed  up  her  lips.  "  I  don't  see  much  harm 
in  it  myself,"  she  said. 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Ladd!     If  the  Vicar  heard  you!" 

"If  you  may  marry  again  when  your  husband's  dead — " 

"It's  allowed,  but  it's — it's  not  exactly  recommended,  is 
it?" 

"Well,  on  the  Vicar's  theory,  I  don't  see  in  the  end  any 
difference  between  the  two  cases — or,  at  any  rate,  not 
much."  Mrs.  Ladd  destroyed  her  logic  by  a  concession  to 
her  friend's  pained  surprise.  She  ought  to  have  stuck  to 
there  being  no  difference  at  all.  Then,  on  Attlebury's 
theory, she  had  an  argument;  "not  much"  came  perilously 
near  to  cutting  the  roots  of  it. 

Speculation  as  to  Mr.  Attlebury's  attitude  was  not  con- 
fined to  these  good  members  of  his  flock.  It  had  a  place  in 
Cyril  Maxon's  own  mind,  so  soon  as  he  began  to  consider 
the  idea  of  freeing  himself  from  the  legal  bond  of  marriage 

'57 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

— and  of  reviewing  his  situation  after  that  was  done.  But 
here  the  idiosyncrasy  of  the  man  came  in,  and  cut  across  the 
loyalty  of  the  churchman.  He  had  given  to  Attlebury  a 
voluntary  allegiance.  But  if  Attlebury  tried  to  extort  a 
forced  obedience  ?  Cyril's  face  set  at  the  thought.  Win- 
nie's great  offence  had  been  that  she  would  not  "adapt  her- 
self." In  his  heart  he  demanded  that  the  priest  and  the 
Church  should  adapt  themselves  also,  should  recognize  his 
services  and  his  value,  and  find  a  way  out  for  him,  if  neces- 
sary. The  "  counsel  of  perfection  "  theory  seemed  more  and 
more,  on  consideration,  to  be  a  possible  way  out,  and  already 
lie  began  to  feel,  in  anticipation,  a  resentment  against  the 
man  or  the  institution  that  should  say  the  contrary.  He 
chafed  beforehand  at  such  dictation,  such  interference  with 
a  view  conscientiously  held  by  a  man  whom  all  must  admit 
to  be  sincere  and  devout — and,  moreover,  an  adherent  very 
much  worth  having. 

Among  the  various  influences  which  caused  the  project 
of  freeing  himself  to  take  definite  shape  in  his  mind,  Rosaline 
Deering  had  to  be  reckoned  first,  no  doubt,  but  she  was  not 
the  only  woman  who  counted.  Done  with  as  she  was,  out 
of  his  life,  yet  Winnie  Maxon  also  had  her  share  in  the  work. 
He  felt  a  primitive  desire  to  "show  her,"  as  children  say — 
to  show  her  that  she  had  not  the  power  to  destroy  his  life, 
that  there  were  women  wiser  than  she,  women  who  did  not 
think  him  impossible  to  live  with,  but  would  hold  it  high 
fortune  to  become  his  wife.  As  soon  as  he  began  to  think 
of  Rosaline  Deering,  he  thought  oftener  of  his  wife,  setting 
the  two  women  in  opposition,  as  it  were,  and  endowing 
Rosaline  with  all  the  virtues  which  Winnie  had  so  con- 
spicuously lacked.  Even  such  an  adventitious  thing  as 
Rosaline's  courtesy  title  counted  in  this  connection;  it 

158 


A    COUNSEL    OF    PERFECTION 

would  help  to  convince  Winnie  of  her  own  insignificance,  of 
what  a  much  greater  career  than  her  own  she  had  tried — 
vainly  tried — to  spoil.  When  she  was  little  better  than  a 
vagabond — he  did  not  put  things  mercifully — Mr.  Justice 
and  Lady  Rosaline  Maxon  might  be  entertaining  in  Devon- 
shire Street — or  perhaps  Berkeley  Square. 

When  the  Law  Courts  rose  for  the  Christmas  vacation 
he  went  to  Paris,  and  Lady  Rosaline  was  gracious  enough 
to  make  no  secret  of  the  fact  that  his  presence  there  had  a 
share  in  determining  her  also  on  a  short  visit.  They  did 
some  of  the  sights  together,  they  had  many  talks  over  the 
fire,  and  it  was  there — on  the  same  Christmas  Eve  whereon 
Winnie  had  gone  to  Shaylor's  Patch  and  Godfrey  Ledstone 
to  Woburn  Square — that  he  told  her  that  he  had  made  up 
his  mind  to  seek  legal  dissolution  of  his  ill-starred  marriage. 

"I  have  looked  at  the  question  from  all  sides,  and  I  have 
satisfied  my  conscience,"  he  said.  "Now  I  must  act  on  my 
own  responsibility." 

In  the  last  words  there  sounded  anticipatory  defiance  of 
Mr.  Attlebury — a  defiance  which  indicated  that  the  satis- 
faction of  his  conscience  was  not  quite  complete.  The  case 
rather  was  that  his  conscience  had  come  to  terms  with  the 
other  influences,  and  under  their  pressure  had  accepted  the 
way  out. 

"I  think  I  may  justly  plead  that  the  circumstances  are 
exceptional."  He  leaned  forward  toward  her  and  asked, 
"You  don't  condemn  me  ?" 

"What's  my  opinion  worth?  You  know  much  more 
about  it;  you're  much  more  able  to  form  a  judgment." 

"  But  I  want  to  know  that  I  haven't  forfeited  your  good 
opinion,  your  regard,  if  I  may  hope  that  I  have  ever  gained 
it." 

159 


MRS.  MAXON    PROTESTS 

"  No,  I  don't  condemn  you,  if  your  own  conscience  doesn't, 
Mr.  Maxon."  She  rose  and  stood — leaning  her  elbow  on 
the  mantelpiece,  her  back  half  turned  toward  him.  The 
pose  displayed  well  the  grace  of  her  tall  figure;  his  eyes 
rested  on  her  in  satisfaction. 

"Thank  you,"  he  said.  "That — that  means  a  great  deal 
to  me,  Lady  Rosaline." 

Her  elbow  rested  on  the  mantelpiece,  her  face  on  her  hand; 
her  mouth  was  hidden.  But  unseen  by  him  a  smile  bent 
her  lips.  His  words  were  entirely  decorous — from  a  man 
still  married — but  they  were  explicit  enough.  "I  can  have 
him  if  I  want  him,"  probably  sums  up  pretty  accurately  the 
lady's  comfortable  conclusion. 


XV 

MRS.    NOBODY 

IN  spite  of  the  untoward  telegram,  her  visit  to  Shaylor's 
Patch  heartened  up  Winnie  in  two  ways.  It  checked 
the  searching  of  conscience  which  is  the  natural  and  frequent 
result  of  threatened  failure;  by  the  evidence  it  afforded  her 
of  Stephen's  affection  and  Dick  Dennehy's  loyal  admiration, 
it  strengthened  her  woman's  confidence  in  her  power  to 
hold  her  man.  After  all,  Mabel  Thurseley  was  not  very 
pretty;  with  the  sea  between  Godfrey  and  Woburn  Square, 
there  would  be  full  cause  for  hope.  She  dreamed  of  Italian 
skies.  Though  she  had  recalled  and  recognized  his  liberty, 
under  their  bargain,  to  leave  her,  it  was  not  prominent  in 
her  mind.  The  natural  woman  was  fighting — and  fights,  it 
may  be  supposed,  much  the  same,  whatever  her  status  by 
law  or  her  rights  by  agreement. 

She  had  telegraphed  to  Godfrey  the  proposed  time  of  her 
arrival  at  the  studio,  and  expected  to  find  him  there;  for 
surely  the  slight  chill  would  be  better  by  now  ?  He  was  not 
there;  yet  apparently  the  chill  was  better,  for  he  had  been 
there  earlier  in  the  day.  The  old  Irish  servant  gave  her 
this  news,  looking  at  her  in  what  Winnie  felt  to  be  rather  an 
odd  way.  The  woman  lingered  by  the  door  for  a  minute, 
glancing  round  the  room,  seeming  half  in  a  mind  to  say 
something  more  and  half  in  a  mind  not  to.  In  the  end  she 

161 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

said  nothing,  and  went  out  in  silence — as  a  rule  she  was 
loquacious — when  her  mistress  told  her  that  she  would  give 
any  necessary  orders  after  she  had  unpacked.  Winnie's 
mind  was  on  the  idea  of  carrying  Godfrey  off  that  very  night. 

Short  as  her  absence  had  been,  the  studio  looked  somehow 
unfamiliar;  it  had  less  of  the  "lived  in"  look  which  she 
associated  with  it  as  a  pleasant  feature.  She  scanned  it 
with  awakening  curiosity.  The  board  on  which  he  stretched 
his  drawing-paper — what  had  become  of  that  ?  His  to- 
bacco-jar was  not  in  its  usual  place;  technical  books  of  his 
were  missing  from  their  appointed  shelf.  He  must  have 
felt  inclined  for  work  in  spite  of  the  chill,  and  come  to  fetch 
them;  at  least,  that  would  account  for  the  board  and  books, 
if  not  as  well  for  the  tobacco-jar.  She  moved  toward  the 
kitchen,  to  inquire  of  the  servant,  but  suddenly  came  to  a 
full  stop  in  the  middle  of  the  room.  She  stood  there  for  a 
moment,  then  turned  sharp  round  and  went  up  the  stairs 
that  led  to  the  bedrooms — not  to  unpack,  for  she  left  her 
own  trunk  and  dressing-bag  on  the  floor  of  the  studio. 

She  went  up-stairs  slowly,  determinedly  calm,  but  with 
beating  heart  and  a  touch  of  vivid  color  on  her  cheeks.  The 
door  of  his  bedroom  stood  wide  open.  The  furniture  was 
all  in  its  place;  the  toilet-table  was  no  barer  than  his  visit 
to  Woburn  Square  accounted  for;  the  little  clock  she  had 
given  him  ticked  away  on  the  mantelpiece.  But  Winnie 
made  straight  for  the  chest  of  drawers,  and  quickly  opened 
and  shut  one  after  another.  They  were  all  empty.  The 
wardrobe  yielded  the  same  result.  All  his  clothes  had  gone, 
and  his  boots — all  of  them.  She  went  back  to  the  landing 
and  opened  the  door  of  a  cupboard  where  his  portmanteau 
was  usually  stowed  away;  it  was  gone.  Preparation  for  a 
long  stay — somewhere!  Yet  the  chill  was  so  much  better 

162 


MRS.   NOBODY 

that  he  had  been  able  to  visit  the  studio  that  morning,  when, 
no  doubt,  he  had  carried  off  all  these  things — all  of  them, 
not  merely  drawing-board,  books,  and  tobacco-jar. 

She  moved  quickly  into  her  own  room.  There  all  was  as 
usual;  but  she  had  thought  that  perhaps  there  would  be  a 
letter.  None  was  visible.  A  curious  quiet,  almost  a  desola- 
tion, seemed  to  brood  over  the  little  room;  it,  too,  took  on, 
suddenly,  an  uninhabited  air.  She  sank  into  a  wicker  arm- 
chair and  sat  there  quite  still  for  some  minutes.  Then  she 
sprang  briskly  to  her  feet  again,  exclaiming,  "Oh,  but 
nonsense!" 

She  was  seeking  indignantly  to  repel  the  conviction  which 
was  mastering  her  mind.  Surely  he  would  not,  could  not, 
do  it  like  this  ?  In  her  rare  contemplation  of  their  possible 
parting,  as  bargained  for,  there  had  always  been,  not  indeed 
argument,  much  less  recrimination,  but  much  friendly  dis- 
cussion, a  calm  survey  of  the  situation,  probably  an  agree- 
ment to  "try  it  again"  for  a  longer  or  shorter  time,  till  a 
mature  and  wise  decision,  satisfactory  to  the  reason,  if  not 
to  the  feelings,  of  both  should  be  arrived  at.  But  this 
would  be  sheer  running  away — literal  running  away  from 
her,  from  the  problem,  from  the  situation.  It  could  not  be. 
There  must  be  some  explanation. 

Sounds  were  easily  audible  in  the  small,  flimsy  dwelling. 
She  heard  the  front-door  bell  ring — and  sat  listening  for  his 
voice  calling  her,  his  step  across  the  studio  floor,  and  then 
coming  up  the  stairs.  Neither  voice  came  nor  step;  be- 
sides— odd  she  had  not  remembered  it  before — of  course  he 
would  have  used  his  latch-key.  She  got  up,  took  off  her 
jacket,  unpinned  her  hat,  laid  it  on  the  bed,  looked  to  her 
hair,  and  then  went  slowly  down-stairs  again. 

Amy  Ledstone  was  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  studio; 

163 


MRS.  MAXON    PROTESTS 

the  knock  had  been  hers.  Then  in  an  instant  Winnie  knew, 
and  in  an  instant  she  put  on  her  armor.  Her  tone  was  cool 
and  her  manner  self-possessed;  they  need  not  both  be 
cowards — she  and  Godfrey! 

"How  do  you  do,  Miss  Ledstone  ?  You've  come  to  tell 
me  something  ?" 

Yes."  Amy  Ledstone  was  neither  cool  nor  self- 
possessed.  Her  voice  trembled  violently;  it  was  an  evident 
effort  for  her  not  to  break  into  sobbing.  "He — he  still 
loves  you;  he  told  me  to  tell  you  that." 

'Told  you  to  tell  me!  Isn't  that  rather  odd  ?  After  all 
our — well,  he's  been  able  to  tell  me  for  himself  before. 
Won't  you  sit  down  ?"  She  sat  herself  as  she  spoke. 

"No,  thank  you.  But  he  can't  bear  to  see  you;  he  can't 
trust  himself.  He  told  me  to  say  that.  He  said  you'd  un- 
derstand— that  you  had  a — an  understanding.  Only  he 
couldn't  bear  to  say  good-bye." 

"He's  not  coming  back?" 

"He  was  really  rather  seedy  on  Sunday — so  he  stayed. 
And — and  on  Sunday  night  mother  had  a  bad  attack;  we 
were  really  alarmed." 

Winnie  nodded.  Always,  from  the  very  beginning,  a 
dangerous  enemy — mother's  weak  heart! 

"Mother  had  been  with  him  all  day — she  wouldn't  leave 
him.  I  suppose  she  got  over-tired,  and  there  was  the  strain 
of — of  the  situation;  and  daddy — my  father — broke  out  on 
Godfrey  the  next  morning;  and  I'd  broken  out  on  him 
Christmas  night." 

"You?"  There  was  a  touch  of  reproach  in  the  ques- 
tion. 

"Yes,  I  told  him  he  must  choose.  He  really  made  love 
to  Mabel  all  the  time.  So  I  told  him — " 

164 


MRS.   NOBODY 

"I  see."  She  smiled  faintly.  "The  poor  boy  can't  have 
had  a  pleasant  Christmas,  Miss  Ledstone!" 

"We  were  all  at  him,  all  three  of  us!'"  She  stretched  out 
her  hands  suddenly.  "Do  try  to  understand  that  he  had 
something  to  bear,  too.  And  that  we  had — thinking  as  we 
do  about  it.  It  was  hard  for  other  people  besides  you. 
Father's  getting  old,  and  Godfrey's  all  mother  and  I — " 

Winnie  nodded  her  understanding  of  the  broken  sentence. 

"I  haven't  said  a  word  against  him  or  any  of  you.  He 
had  a  right  to  do  what  he  has  done,  though  he's  done  it  in 
a  way  I  didn't  think  he'd  choose." 

"He  doesn't  trust  himself,  and  mother — oh!"  Her  for- 
lorn murmuring  ended  hopelessly  in  nothing. 

"Mother!  Yes!  What  a  lot  of  things  there  are  to  think 
of!  I  had  just  made  up  my  mind  to  take  him  right  away 
from  all  of  you,  to  take  him  abroad.  I  could  have  done  it  if 
I'd  found  him  here.  Perhaps  I  could  do  it  still — I  won- 
der ?" 

Amy  shivered  uncomfortably  under  the  thoughtful  gaze 
of  her  companion's  eyes. 

"I  might  write  letters,  too — as  you  used  to — and  contrive 
secret  meetings.  He's  said  nothing  about  Miss  Thurseley 
to  me — I  don't  suppose  he'd  say  anything  about  me  to 
Miss  Thurseley.  But  he'd  meet  me  all  the  same,  I  think. 
That  seems  to  be  his  way;  only  before  your  last  visit  I 
didn't  know  it." 

"Indeed,  he  won't  think  of  Mabel — not  for  a  long  while. 
He's  so — so  broken  up." 

Winnie  raised  her  brows  slightly;  she  was  beginning  to 
form  an  opinion  of  her  own  about  that — an  opinion  not  likely 
to  be  too  generous  to  Godfrey. 

Amy  spoke  with  obvious  effort,  with  an  air  of  shame. 

165 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

"Mother  begged  and  prayed  me  to — to  try  and  persuade 
you — "  She  broke  off  again. 

"To  let  him  alone?  I  suppose  she  would.  She  thinks 
I've  done  all  the  harm  ?  As  far  as  he's  concerned,  I  suppose 
I  have.  If  we'd  gone  about  it  in  the  ordinary  way,  he 
really  needn't  have  suffered  at  all." 

Again  came  Amy's  uncomfortable  shiver;  she  was  not  at 
home  with  steady  contemplation  of  the  ways  of  the  world; 
it  had  not  come  across  her  path  any  more  than  love-making 
had. 

"You  can  tell  your  mother  that  I'll  let  him  alone.  Then, 
I  hope,  she'll  get  better." 

"Oh,  I  don't  understand  you!" 

"No?  Well,  I  didn't  understand  Godfrey.  But  in  your 
case  it  doesn't  matter.  Why  should  you  want  to  ?  You 
can  all  put  me  out  of  your  thoughts  from  to-day." 

"I  can't!"  cried  Amy;  "I  shall  never  be  able  to!"  Sud- 
denly she  came  over  to  Winnie,  and,  standing  before  her 
rather  awkwardly,  burst  into  tears.  "How  can  you  be  so 
hard  ?"  she  moaned.  "Don't  you  see  that  I'm  terribly  un- 
happy for  you  ?  But  it's  hopeless  to  try  to  tell  you.  You're 
so — so  hard.  And  I've  got  to  go  back  home,  where  they'll 
be—" 

Winnie  supplied  the  word  —  "Jubilant?  Yes."  She 
frowned.  "You  cry,  and  I  don't — it  is  rather  funny.  I 
wonder  if  I  shall  cry  when  you've  gone  ?" 

"Oh,  do  you  love  him,  or  don't  you  ?" 

Winnie's  brows  were  raised  again.  In  view  of  what  had 
occurred  that  day,  of  the  sudden  revelation  of  Godfrey,  of 
the  abrupt  change  his  act  had  wrought  in  her  relations  to 
him,  the  question  seemed  to  imply  an  unreal  simplicity  of 
the  emotions,  a  falsely  uncomplicated  contrast  between  two 

166 


MRS.   NOBODY 

states  of  feeling,  standing  distantly  over  against  each  other. 
Such  a  conception  in  no  way  corresponded  with  her  present 
feelings  about  Godfrey  Ledstone.  The  man  she  loved  had 
done  the  thing  she  could  not  forgive — did  she  love  him  ? 
Yet  if  she  did  not  love  him,  why  could  she  not  forgive  him  ? 
Unless  she  loved  him,  it  was  small  matter  that  he  should  be 
ashamed  and  run  away.  But  if  he  were  ashamed  and  ran 
away,  how  could  she  love  ?  Love  and  contempt,  tender- 
ness and  repulsion,  seemed  woven  into  one  fabric  of  intricate, 
almost  untraceable  pattern.  How  could  she  describe  that 
to  Amy  Ledstone  ? 

"I  suppose  I  love  my  Godfrey,  but  he  seems  not  to  be 
the  same  as  yours.  I  can't  put  it  better  than  that.  And 
you  love  yours,  and  not  mine.  I  think  that's  all  we  can 
say  about  it." 

Amy  had  her  complications  of  feeling,  too.  She  dried 
her  eyes,  mournfully  saying:  "That's  not  true  about  me. 
I  like  yours  best — if  I  know  what  you  mean.  He  was  a 
man,  anyhow.  But  then  I  know  it's  wicked  to  feel  like 
that." 

Winnie  looked  up  at  her.  "Of  course  you  must  think  it 
wicked — I  quite  see  that — but  you  do  understand  more  than 
I  thought,"  she  said.  "And  you  won't  think  I'm  abusing 
him  ?  It  wouldn't  seem  wicked  to  me  at  all — if  I'd  hap- 
pened on  the  right  man.  But  I  didn't.  That's  all.  And 
this  way  of  ending  it  seems  somehow  to — to  defile  it  all.  The 
end  spoils  it  all.  That  seems  to  me  shamefully  unfair.  He 
had  a  right  to  go,  but  he  had  no  right  to  be  ashamed.  And 
he  is  ashamed,  and  almost  makes  me  ashamed.  I  could 
almost  hate  him  for  it." 

"We've  made  him  ashamed.     You  must  hate  us." 

"I  like  you.  And — no — how  could  I  hate  your  father 

167 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

and  mother?  They  made  me  no  promise;  I've  given 
nothing  to  them  on  the  strength  of  a  promise.  But  to  him 
I've  given  everything  I  had;  not  much,  I  know,  but  still — 
everything." 

Amy  twisted  her  gloved  hands  round  each  other.  She 
was  calmer  now,  but  her  face  was  drawn  with  pain.  "Yes, 
that's  true,"  she  said.  Then  she  came  out  abruptly  with 
what  had  been  behind  her  spoken  words  for  the  last  ten 
minutes,  with  what  she  had  to  say  before  she  could  bring 
herself  to  leave  Winnie.  "At  any  rate,  you've  pluck. 
Godfrey's  a  coward." 

Winnie's  lips  bent  in  a  queer  smile.  "Don't!  Where 
does  it  leave  me  ?  Oh  yes,  it's  true  about  him,  I  suppose. 
That's  my  blunder." 

Amy  walked  back  to  the  mantelpiece;  she  had  left  her 
muff  on  it.  She  took  it  up  and  moved  toward  the  door. 
"I'll  go.  You  must  have  had  enough  of  the  lot  of  us!" 

Winnie  had  an  honest  desire  to  be  just — nay,  to  be  kind, 
to  reciprocate  a  friendliness  obviously  extended  toward  her, 
and  extended  in  spite  of  a  rooted  disapproval.  But  those 
limits  of  endurance  had  been  reached  again.  She  had, 
indeed,  had  enough  of  the  Ledstones;  not  even  her  husband 
could  have  suffered  more  strongly  from  the  feeling.  She 
made  an  effort. 

"Oh, you  and  I  part  friends,"  she  called  after  her  visitor's 
retreating  figure.  Without  turning  round,  Amy  shook  her 
head  dolefully,  and  so  passed  out.  Her  mission  was  ac- 
complished. 

Almost  directly  after  Amy  left,  the  servant,  Dennehy's  old 
Irishwoman,  came  in  with  tea  and  buttered  toast.  She 
drew  a  chair  up  to  the  gas-stove,  and  a  little  table. 

"Make  yerself  comfortable,  me  dear,"  she  said. 

168 


MRS.   NOBODY 

"Did  he  say  anything  to  you,  Mrs.  O'Leary  ?" 

"  Said  he  was  going  to  visit  his  relations  in  the  North  for 
a  bit."  Then,  after  a  pause,  "Cheer  up,  mum.  There's 
as  good  fish — !"  And  out  the  old  woman  shuffled. 

Now  that  was  a  funny  thing  to  say!  "There's  as  good 
fish — !"  But  Winnie's  numb  brain  was  on  another  tack; 
she  did  not  pursue  the  implications  of  Mrs.  O'Leary 's  re- 
mark. Nor  did  the  tender  mood,  on  whose  advent  she  had 
speculated  when  she  said,  "I  wonder  if  I  shall  cry  when 
you've  gone,"  arrive.  Nor  was  she  girding  against  the 
Ledstones  and  Woburn  Square  any  more.  Her  thoughts 
went  back  to  her  own  parting  from  her  husband.  "Any- 
how, I  faced  Cyril — we  had  it  out,"  was  the  refrain  of  her 
thoughts,  curiously  persistent,  as  she  sat  before  the  stove, 
drinking  her  tea  and  munching  her  toast,  enjoying  the 
warmth,  really  (though  it  seemed  strange)  not  so  much 
miserable  as  intensely  combative,  with  no  leisure  to  indulge 
in  misery,  with  her  back  to  the  wall,  and  the  world — the 
Giant — advancing  against  her  threateningly.  Because  her 
particular  little  rampart  had  collapsed  entirely,  the  roof  was 
blown  off  her  shelter,  her  scheme  of  life  in  ruins — a  situation 
cheerfully  countered  by  Mrs.  O'Leary 's  proverbial  saying, 
but  not  in  reality  easy  to  deal  with.  Her  boat  was  not  out 
fishing;  it  was  stranded,  high  and  dry,  on  a  barren  beach. 
"I  did  face  Cyril!"  Again  and  again  it  came  in  pride  and 
bitter  resentment.  Here  she  was  faced  with  a  denoument 
typical  of  a  weak  mind  —  at  once  sudden,  violent,  and 
cowardly. 

She  smoked  two  or  three  cigarettes — Ledstone  had  taught 
her  the  habit,  undreamed  of  in  her  Maxon  days — and  the 
hands  of  the  clock  moved  round.  Half-past  six  struck.  It 
acted  as  a  practical  reminder  of  immediate  results.  She 

169 


MRS.  MAXON    PROTESTS 

had  no  dinner  ordered;  if  she  had,  there  was  nobody  to  eat 
it  with.  There  was  nobody  to  spend  the  evening  with.  She 
would  have  to  sleep  alone  in  the  house;  Mrs.  O'Leary  had 
family  cares,  and  got  home  to  supper  and  bed  at  nine  o'clock. 
She  need  not  dine,  but  she  must  spend  the  evening  and 
must  sleep,  with  no  company,  no  protective  presence,  in 
all  the  house.  That  seemed  really  rather  dreadful. 

Her  luggage  lay  on  the  floor  of  the  studio,  still  unpacked. 
She  had  not  given  another  thought  to  it;  she  did  now. 
"Shall  I  go  back  to  Shaylor's  Patch  to-night?"  It  was  a 
very  tempting  idea.  She  got  up,  almost  determined;  she 
would  find  sympathy  there;  even  the  tears  might  come. 
She  was  on  the  point  of  making  for  her  bedroom,  to  put  on 
her  hat  and  jacket  again,  when  another  ring  came  at  the 
bell.  A  moment  later  she  heard  a  cheery  voice  asking, 
"Mrs.  Ledstone  at  home?" 

"But  I'm  not  Mrs.  Ledstone  any  more.  Nor  Mrs. 
Maxon!  I  don't  see  that  I'm  anybody." 

The  thought  had  just  time  to  flash  through  her  mind 
before  Bob  Purnett  was  ushered  in  by  Mrs.  O'Leary. 

"Mr.  Purnett,  mum.  Ye'll  find  the  whiskey  in  the  usual 
place,  sor,  and  the  soda."  It  was  known  that  Bob  did  not 
affect  afternoon  tea. 

"I  thought  you'd  be  back,  Mrs.  Ledstone.  Where's 
Godfrey  ?  I've  a  free  night,  and  I  want  you  and  him  to 
come  and  dine  and  go  to  a  Hall.  Don't  say  no,  now!  I'm 
so  lonely !  Don't  mind  this  cigar,  do  you,  Mrs.  Led- 
stone ?" 

There  seemed  a  lot  of  "Mrs.  Ledstone"  about  it;  but  she 
knew  that  was  Bob's  good  manners.  Besides,  it  was  a 
minor  point.  How  much  candor  was  at  the  moment 
requisite  ?  Even  that  was  not  the  main  point.  The  main 

170 


MRS.   NOBODY 

point  was,  "Here's  a  friendly  human  being;   in  what  way 
am  I  required  by  the  situation  to  treat  him  ?" 

It  was  a  point  admitting  of  difficult  consideration  in 
theory;  in  practice  it  needed  none  whatever.  Winnie 
clutched  at  the  plank  in  her  sea  of  desolation. 

"Godfrey's  staying  over  the  night  with  his  people;  he's 
got  a  chill.  I  didn't  know  it,  so  I  came  back  all  the  same 
from  the  Aikenheads'." — How  glib! — "And  I'm  rather 
lonely,  too,  Mr.  Purnett." 

He  sat  down  near  her  by  the  stove.  "Well — er — old 
Godfrey  wouldn't  object,  would  he  ?" 

"You  mean — that  I  should  come  alone?     With  you?" 

"Hang  it,  if  he  will  get  chills  and  stay  at  Woburn  Square! 
This  doesn't  strike  one  as  very  festive!"  He  looked  round 
the  studio  and  gave  a  burlesque  shudder. 

"It  isn't!"  said  Winnie.  "Shall  I  surprise  you,  Mr. 
Purnett,  if  I  tell  you  that  I  have  never  in  my  life  dined  out 
or  gone  to  the  theatre  alone  with  any  man  except  Mr. 
Maxon  and  Godfrey  ?" 

She  puzzled  Bob  to  distraction,  or,  rather,  would  have,  if 
he  had  not  given  up  the  problem  long  ago.  "I  believe  it 
if  you  say  so,  Mrs.  Ledstone,"  he  rejoined,  submissively. 
"But  Godfrey  and  I  are  such  good  pals.  Why  shouldn't 
you  ?" 

"I'm  going  to,"  said  Winnie. 

He  rose  with  cheerful  alacrity.  "All  right.  I'll  meet  you 
at  the  Cafe  Royal — eight  sharp.  Jolly  glad  I  looked  in! 
I  say,  what  price  poor  old  Godfrey — with  a  chill  at  Woburn 
Square,  while  we're  having  an  evening  out  ?"  He  chuckled 
merrily. 

"It  serves  Godfrey  quite  right,"  she  said,  with  her  faintly 
flickering  smile. 

12  171 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

Mrs.  O'Leary  was  delighted  to  be  summoned  to  the  task 
of  lacing  up  one  of  Winnie's  two  evening  frocks — the  better 
of  the  two,  it  may  be  remarked  in  passing. 

"Ye  might  have  moped,  me  dear,  here  all  by  your- 
self!" she  said,  and  it  certainly  seemed  a  possible  con- 
jecture. 

There  was  only  one  fault  to  be  found  with  Bob  Purnett's 
demeanor  during  dinner  at  the  Cafe  Royal.  It  was  quite 
friendly  and  cheerful;  it  was  not  distant;  but  it  was  rather 
overwhelmingly  respectful.  It  recognized  and  emphasized 
the  fact  of  Godfrey  Ledstone's  property  in  her  (the  thing 
can  hardly  be  put  differently),  and  of  Bob's  perfect  ac- 
quiescence in  it.  It  protested  that  not  a  trace  of  treason 
lurked  in  this  little  excursion.  He  even  kept  on  expressing 
the  wish  that  Godfrey  were  with  them.  And  he  called  her 
"Mrs.  Ledstone"  every  other  sentence.  There  never  was 
anybody  who  kept  the  straitest  rule  of  the  code  more  re- 
ligiously than  Bob  Purnett. 

But  he  was  in  face  of  a  situation  of  which  he  was  ignorant, 
and  of  a  nature  which  (as  he  was  only  too  well  aware)  he 
very  little  comprehended.  Winnie  looked  very  pretty,  but 
she  smiled  inscrutably.  At  least,  she  smiled  at  first.  Pres- 
ently a  touch  of  irritation  crept  into  her  manner.  She  gave 
him  back  copious  "Mr.  Purnett's"  in  return  for  his  "Mrs. 
Ledstone's."  The  conversation  became  formal — indeed,  to 
Bob,  rather  dull.  He  understood  her  less  and  less. 

It  was,  on  Winnie's  extremely  rough  and  not  less  irritated 
computation,  at  the  one  hundred  and  fourth  "Mrs.  Led- 
stone "  of  the  evening — which  found  utterance  as  they  were 
driving  in  a  cab  from  the  restaurant  to  the  selected  place  of 
entertainment — that  her  patience  gave  as  with  a  snap,  and 
her  bitter  humor  had  its  way. 

172 


MRS.    NOBODY 

"For  Heaven's  sake,  don't  call  me  'Mrs.  Ledstone'  any 
more  this  evening!" 

"Eh?"  said  Bob,  removing  his  cigar  from  his  mouth. 
"What  did  you  say,  Mrs.  Led —  Oh,  I  beg  pardon!" 

"I  said,  'Don't  call  me  "Mrs.  Ledstone"' — or  I  shall  go 
mad." 

"What  am  I  to  call  you,  then  ?"  He  was  trying  not  to 
stare  at  her,  but  was  glancing  keenly  out  of  the  corner  of 
his  eye. 

"Let's  be  safe — call  me  Mrs.  Smith,"  said  Winnie. 

On  which  words  they  arrived  at  the  music-hall. 


XVI 

A   WORD   TAKEN   AT   PLEASURE 

THE  excellent  entertainment  provided  for  them  acted 
as  a  palliative  to  Winnie's  irritation  and  Bob  Purnett's 
acute  curiosity.  There  are  no  "intervals"  at  music-halls; 
they  were  switched  too  quickly  from  diversion  to  diversion 
for  much  opportunity  of  talk  to  present  itself;  and  during 
the  "orchestral  interlude,"  half-way  through  the  pro- 
gramme, Bob  left  his  place  in  search  of  refreshment.  When 
they  came  out,  the  subject  of  "Mrs.  Smith"  had  not  ad- 
vanced further  between  them. 

Winnie  refused  her  escort's  offer  of  supper.  By  now  she 
was  tired  out,  and  she  felt,  though  reluctant  to  own  it,  a 
childish  instinct — since  she  had  to  sleep  in  that  desert  of  a 
house — to  hide  her  head  between  the  sheets  before  mid- 
night. This  aim  a  swift  motor-cab  might  just  enable  her 
to  accomplish. 

Nor  did  the  subject  advance  rapidly  when  the  cab  had 
started.  Winnie  lay  back  against  the  cushions  in  a  languid 
weariness,  not  equal  to  thinking  any  more  about  her  affairs 
that  night.  Bob  sat  opposite,  not  beside  her,  for  fear  of 
his  cigar-smoke  troubling  her.  She  often  closed  her  eyes; 
then  he  would  indulge  himself  in  a  cautious  scrutiny  of  her 
face  as  the  street-lamps  lit  it  up  in  their  rapid  passage.  She 
looked  exceedingly  pretty,  and  would  look  prettier  still — 

'74 


A    WORD    TAKEN    AT    PLEASURE 

indeed,  "ripping" — with  just  a  little  bit  of  make-up;  for 
she  was  very  pale,  and  life  had  already  drawn  three  or  four 
delicate  but  unmistakable  lines  about  eyes  and  mouth. 
Bob  allowed  himself  to  consider  her  with  more  attention 
than  he  had  ever  accorded  to  her  before,  and  with  a  new 
sort  of  attention — on  his  own  account  as  a  man,  not  merely 
as  a  respectful  critic  of  Godfrey  Ledstone's  taste.  Because 
that  remark  of  hers  about  not  being  called  "Mrs.  Ledstone" 
— on  pain  of  going  mad — made  a  difference.  Perhaps  it 
meant  only  a  tiff — or,  as  he  called  it,  a  "row."  Perhaps  it 
meant  more — perhaps  it  was  "all  off"  between  her  and 
Godfrey — a  final  separation. 

Whatever  the  remark  meant,  the  state  of  affairs  it  in- 
dicated brought  Winnie  more  within  her  present  com- 
panion's mental  horizon.  Tiffs  and  separations  were  phe- 
nomena quite  familiar  to  his  experience.  The  truth  might  be 
put  higher — tiffs  were  the  necessary  concomitant,  and  separa- 
tions the  inevitable  end,  of  sentimental  friendships.  They 
came  more  or  less  frequently,  sooner  or  later;  but  they  came. 
Growing  frequency  of  tiffs  usually  heralded  separations. 
But  sometimes  the  "  big  row"  came  all  at  once — a  storm  out 
of  a  blue  sky,  a  sudden  hurricane,  in  which  the  consort  ships 
lost  touch  of  each  other  —  or  one  went  under,  while  the 
other  sailed  away.  All  this  was  familiar  ground  to  Bob 
Purnett;  he  had  often  seen  it,  he  had  experienced  it,  he  had 
joked  and,  in  his  own  vein,  philosophized  about  it.  The 
thing  he  had  not  understood — though  he  had  punctiliously 
feigned  to  accept — was  the  sanctity  and  permanence  of  a 
tie  which  was,  as  everybody  really  must  know,  neither  sacred 
nor  likely  to  be  permanent.  There  he  was  out  of  his  depth; 
when  tiffs  and  separations  came  on  the  scene,  Bob  felt  his 
feet  touch  bottom.  And  he  had  always  been  of  opinion,  in 

175 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

his  heart,  that,  whatever  Winnie  might  believe,  Godfrey 
Ledstone  felt  just  as  he  did.  Of  course,  Godfrey  had  had  to 
pretend  otherwise — well,  the  face  opposite  Bob  in  the  cab 
was  worth  a  bit  of  pretending. 

Winnie  spoke  briefly,  two  or  three  times,  of  the  perform- 
ance they  had  seen,  but  said  nothing  more  about  herself. 
When  they  arrived  at  her  door  she  told  him  to  keep  the  cab. 

"  Because  I've  got  nothing  for  you  to  eat,  and  I  think  you 
finished  even  the  whiskey!  Thanks  for  my  evening,  Mr. 
Purnett." 

He  walked  through  the  little  court  up  to  the  door  with 
her.  "And  you  look  as  tired  as  a  dog,"  he  remarked — with 
a  successful  suppression  of  "Mrs.  Ledstone."  "What  you 
want  is  a  good  sleep,  and — and  it  '11  all  look  brighter  in  the 
morning.  May  I  come  and  see  you  soon  ?" 

"If  I'm  here,  of  course  you  may.  But  I  haven't  made  up 
my  mind.  I  may  go  back  to  the  country,  to  the  Aikenheads, 
my  cousins — where  I  met  Godfrey,  you  know." 

He  could  not  resist  a  question,  "I  say,  is  there  trouble  ? 
You  know  how  I  like  you  both.  Has  there  been  a  row  ?" 

She  smiled  at  him.  "Godfrey  avoided  any  danger  of 
that.  I  don't  want  to  talk  about  it,  but — you  may  as  well 
know.  Godfrey  has  gone  away." 

"Oh,  but  he'll  come  back,  Mrs. —  He'll  come  back,  I 
mean,  you  know." 

"Never.  And  I  don't  want  him.  Don't  ask  me  any 
more — to-night,  anyhow."  She  gave  him  her  hand  with  a 
friendly  pressure.  "Good-night." 

"Good  Lord!  Well,  I'm  sorry.  I  say,  you  won't  cut  me 
now,  will  you  ?" 

"I  haven't  so  many  friends  that  I  need  cut  a  good  one. 
Now,  if  you  drive  off  at  once,  you'll  be  back  in  time  to  get 

176 


A    WORD    TAKEN    AT    PLEASURE 

some  supper  somewhere  else."  She  smiled  again,  and  in  a 
longing  for  comfort  owned  to  him — and  to  herself — her 
childish  fears.  "And  I  want  to  be  snug  in  bed  before  the 
spooks  come  out!  I  feel  rather  lonely.  So,  again,  good- 
night." He  had  a  last  vision  of  her  small,  pale  face  as  she 
slowly,  reluctantly  it  seemed  to  him,  shut  the  door.  A  great 
rattle  of  bolts  followed. 

"Well,  I'm  left  outside,  anyhow,"  Bob  reflected  philo- 
sophically as  he  walked  back  to  the  cab.  But  his  mind 
was  occupied  with  the  picture  of  the  proud,  forlorn  woman, 
there  alone  in  the  empty  house,  very  much  alone  in  the  world, 
too,  and  rather  afraid  of  "spooks."  All  his  natural  kindli- 
ness of  heart  was  aroused  in  pity  and  sympathy  for  her. 
"  I  should  like  to  give  her  a  really  good  time,"  he  thought. 
In  that  aspect  his  impulse  was  honestly  unselfish.  But  the 
image  of  the  pale,  delicate  face  abode  with  him  also.  The 
two  aspects  of  his  impulse  mingled;  he  saw  no  reason  why 
they  should  not,  if  it  were  really  "all  off"  between  her  and 
Godfrey  Ledstone.  "I  think  she  likes  me  well  enough — I 
wonder  if  she  does!"  He  did  not,  to  do  him  justice,  ask  an 
extravagant  degree  of  devotion  in  return  for  any  "good 
times"  which  he  might  find  himself  able  to  offer.  When 
it  is  so  easy  for  two  people  with  good  tempers,  sound  diges- 
tions, and  plenty  of  ready  cash  to  enjoy  themselves,  why 
spoil  it  all  by  asking  too  much  ?  Surely  he  and  Winnie 
could  enjoy  themselves  ?  The  idea  stuck  in  his  mind. 
Again,  why — to  him — should  it  not  ?  His  scrupulous  be- 
havior hitherto  had  been  based  on  loyalty  to  Godfrey 
Ledstone.  It  appeared  that  he  was  released  from  the  obli- 
gation by  his  friend's  own  act.  "  He  can't  say  I  didn't  play 
the  game  while  the  thing  lasted,"  thought  Bob,  with  justi- 
fiable self-satisfaction. 

177 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

The  morrow  of  a  catastrophe  is  perhaps  harder  to  bear 
than  the  hour  in  which  it  befalls  us.  The  excitement  of 
battling  with  fate  is  gone;  but  the  wounds  smart  and  the 
bruises  ache.  Physically  refreshed  by  sleep  —  a  sleep 
happily  unbroken  by  assaults  from  without  or  ghostly  visi- 
tants within  the  house — Winnie  braced  her  courage  to  meet 
the  call  on  it.  Her  task,  not  easy,  yet  was  plain.  She 
would  not  weep  for  her  Godfrey  Ledstone;  she  would  try 
not  to  think  of  him,  nor  to  let  her  thoughts  stray  back  to 
the  early  days  with  him.  She  would  and  must  think  of  the 
other  Godfrey,  the  one  in  Woburn  Square.  What  woman 
would  weep  for  such  a  man  as  that — except  his  mother  ? 
On  him  she  would  fix  her  thoughts,  until  she  need  think  no 
more  of  either  of  them.  She  had  to  think  of  herself — of 
what  she  had  done  and  of  what  she  was  now  to  do.  On 
the  first  head  she  admitted  a  blunder,  but  no  disgrace — a 
mistake  not  of  principle  or  theory,  only  a  mistake  in  her 
man;  with  regard  to  the  second,  she  must  make  a  decision. 

Just  before  she  had  fairly  settled  down  to  this  task  she 
had  a  visitor.  At  half-past  eleven — early  hours  for  her  to 
be  out  and  about — Mrs.  Lenoir  appeared. 

"I  was  supping  at  the  Carlton  grill-room  last  night,"  she 
explained,  "with  a  couple  of  girls  whom  I'd  taken  to  the 
play,  and  Bob  Purnett  came  in.  He  drove  me  back  home, 
and — I  don't  know  if  he  ought  to  have — but  he  told  me 
about  some  trouble  here.  So,  as  I'm  an  interfering  old 
woman,  I  came  round  to  see  if  I  could  be  of  any  use."  Her 
manner  to-day  was  less  stately  and  more  cordial.  Also,  she 
spoke  with  a  certain  frankness.  "You  see,  I  know  some- 
thing about  this  sort  of  thing,  my  dear." 

Winnie,  of  course,  distinguished  her  "sort  of  thing"  very 
broadly  from  the  "sort  of  thing"  to  which  Mrs.  Lenoir 

178 


A    WORD    TAKEN    AT    PLEASURE 

must  be  assumed  to  refer,  but  she  made  no  secret  of  the 
state  of  the  case  or  of  her  own  attitude  toward  it.  "I  ac- 
cept it  absolutely,  but  I'm  bitterly  hurt  by  the  way  it  was 
done." 

"  Oh,  you  can  put  it  that  way,  my  dear;  but  you're  human 
like  the  rest  of  us,  and,  of  course,  you  hate  having  him  taken 
away  from  you.  Now  shall  I  try  what  I  can  do  ?" 

"Not  for  the  world!  Not  a  word,  nor  a  sign!  It's  my 
mistake,  and  I  stand  by  it.  If  he  came  back,  it  would  never 
be  the  same  thing.  It  was  beautiful;  it  would  be  shameful 
now." 

Mrs.  Lenoir  smiled  doubtfully;  she  had  an  imperfect  un- 
derstanding of  the  mode  of  thought. 

"Very  well,  that's  settled.  And,  for  my  part,  I  think 
you're  well  rid  of  him.  A  weak  creature!  Let  him  marry 
a  Bloomsbury  girl,  and  I  hope  she'll  keep  him  in  fine  order. 
But  what  are  you  going  to  do  ?" 

"I  don't  quite  know.  Stephen  and  Tora  would  let  me 
go  back  to  Shaylor's  Patch  for  as  long  as  I  liked." 

"Oh,  Shaylor's  Patch!  To  talk  about  it  all,  over  and 
over  again!" 

A  note  of  impatience  in  her  friend's  voice  was  amusingly 
evident  to  Winnie.  "You  mean  the  less  I  talk  about  it,  the 
better  ?"  she  asked,  smiling. 

"Well,  you  haven't  made  exactly  a  success  of  it,  have 
you  ?"  The  manner  was  kinder  than  the  words. 

"And  I  didn't  make  exactly  a  success  of  my  marriage, 
either,"  Winnie  reflected,  in  a  puzzled  dolefulness.  Be- 
cause, if  both  orthodoxy  and  unorthodoxy  go  wrong,  what 
is  a  poor  human  woman  to  do?  "Well,  if  I  mayn't  go  to 
Shaylor's  Patch — at  present,  anyhow — I  must  stay  here, 
Mrs.  Lenoir — that's  all.  The  studio's  in  my  name,  because 

179 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

I  could  give  better  security  than  Godfrey,  and  I  can  stay  if 
I  want  to." 

"Not  very  cheerful — and  only  that  dirty  old  Irishwoman 
to  do  for  you!" 

"Oh,  please  don't  abuse  Mrs.  O'Leary.  She's  my  one 
consolation." 

Mrs.  Lenoir  looked  at  her  with  something  less  than  her 
usual  self-confidence.  It  was  in  a  decidedly  doubtful  and 
tentative  tone  that  she  put  her  question,  "I  couldn't  per- 
suade you  to  come  and  put  up  with  me — in  both  senses — for 
a  bit?" 

Winnie  was  surprised  and  touched;  to  her  despairing 
mood  any  kindness  was  a  great  kindness. 

"That's  really  good  of  you,"  she  said,  pressing  Mrs. 
Lenoir's  hand  for  a  moment.  "It's — merciful." 

"  I'm  an  old  woman  now,  my  dear,  and  most  of  my  cronies 
are  getting  old,  too.  Still,  some  young  folks  look  in  now 
and  then.  We  aren't  at  all  gay;  but  you'll  be  comfortable, 
and  you  can  have  a  rest  while  you  look  about  you."  There 
was  a  trace  of  the  explanatory,  of  the  reassuring,  about  Mrs. 
Lenoir's  sketch  of  her  home  life. 

"What's  good  enough  for  you  is  good  enough  for  me, 
you  know,"  Winnie  remarked,  with  a  smile. 

"Oh,  I'm  not  so  sure!  Oh,  I'm  not  speaking  of  creature 
comforts  and  so  on.  But  you  seem  to  me  to  expect  so  much 
of — of  everybody." 

Winnie  took  the  hand  she  had  pressed  and  held  it.  "And 
you  ?"  she  asked. 

"Never  mind  me.  You're  young  and  attractive.  Don't 
go  on  expecting  too  much.  They  take  what  they  can." 

"They?     Who?" 

"Men,"  said  Mrs.  Lenoir.  Then  out  of  those  distant, 

1 80 


A    WORD    TAKEN    AT    PLEASURE 

thoughtful,  no  longer  very  bright  eyes  flashed  for  an  instant 
the  roguish  twinkle  for  which  she  had  once  been  famous. 
"I've  given  them  as  good  as  I  got,  though,"  said  she.  "And 
now — will  you  come  ?" 

Winnie  laughed.  "Well,  do  you  think  I  should  prefer 
this  empty  tomb  ?"  she  asked.  Yes — -empty  and  a  tomb — 
apt  words  for  what  the  studio  now  was.  "You  weren't  as 
nice  as  this  at  Shaylor's  Patch — though  you  always  said 
things  *that  made  me  think." 

"They've  all  got  their  heads  in  the  air  at  Shaylor's  Patch 
— dear  creatures!" 

"  I  shall  enjoy  staying  with  you.  Is  it  really  convenient  ?" 
Mrs.  Lenoir  smiled.  "Oh,  but  that's  a  silly  question,  be- 
cause I  know  you  meant  it.  When  may  I  come  ?" 

"Not  a  moment  later  than  this  afternoon." 

"Well,  the  truth  is,  I  didn't  fancy  sleeping  here  again. 
I  expect  I  should  have  gone  to  Shaylor's  Patch." 

Again  Mrs.  Lenoir  smiled.  "You're  full  of  pluck,  but 
you're  scarcely  hard  enough,  my  dear.  If  I'm  a  failure, 
Shaylor's  Patch  will  do  later,  won't  it  ?" 

"I  shall  disgrace  you.  I've  nothing  to  wear.  We  were 
— I'm  very  poor,  you  know." 

"I'd  give  every  pound  at  my  bank  and  every  rag  off  my 
back  for  one  line  of  your  figure,"  said  Mrs.  Lenoir.  "I 
was  beautiful  once,  you  know,  my  dear."  Her  voice  took 
on  a  note  of  generous  recognition.  "You're  very  well — in 
the  petite  style,  Winnie."  But  by  this  she  evidently  meant 
something  different  from  her  "beautiful."  Well,  it  was 
matter  of  history. 

That  afternoon,  then,  witnessed  a  remarkable  change  in 
Winnie's  external  conditions.  Instead  of  the  desolate,  un- 
comfortable studio,  charged  with  memories  too  happy  or  too 

181 


MRS.  MAXON    PROTESTS 

unhappy — there  seemed  nothing  between  the  two,  and  the 
extremes  met — peopled,  also,  with  "spooks"  potential  if 
not  visualized,  there  was  Mrs.  Lenoir's  luxurious  flat  in 
Knightsbridge,  replete,  as  the  auctioneers  say,  with  every 
modern  convenience.  The  difference  was  more  than  ex- 
ternal. She  was  no  longer  a  derelict — left  stranded  at  the 
studio  or  to  drift  back  to  Shaylor's  Patch.  No  doubt  it 
might  be  said  that  she  was  received  out  of  charity.  Amply 
acknowledging  the  boon,  Winnie  had  yet  the  wit  to  perceive 
that  the  charity  was  discriminating.  Not  for  her  had  she 
been  plain,  not  for  her  had  she  been  uninteresting!  In  a 
sense  she  had  earned  it.  And  in  a  sense,  too,  she  felt  that 
she  was  in  process  of  being  avenged  on  Godfrey  Ledstone 
and  on  Woburn  Square.  A  parallel  might  be  traced  here 
between  her  feelings  and  Cyril  Maxon's.  They  had  made 
her  count  for  nothing;  she  felt  that  at  Mrs.  Lenoir's  she 
might  still  count.  The  sorrow  and  the  hurt  remained,  but 
at  least  this  was  not  finality.  She  had  suffered  under  a 
dread  suspicion  that  in  their  different  ways  both  Shaylor's 
Patch  and  the  solitary  studio  were.  Here  she  had  a  renewed 
sense  of  life,  of  a  future  possible.  Yet  here,  too,  for  the  first 
time  since  Godfrey  left  her,  she  lost  her  composure,  and  the 
tears  came — quite  soon,  within  ten  minutes  after  Mrs. 
Lenoir's  greeting. 

Mrs.  Lenoir  understood.  "There,  you're  not  so  angry 
any  more,"  she  said.  "You're  beginning  to  see  that  it 
must  have  happened — with  that  fellow!  Now  Emily  will 
make  you  comfortable,  and  put  you  to  bed  till  dinner-time. 
You  needn't  get  up  for  that  unless  you  like.  There's  only 
the  General  coming;  it's  one  of  his  nights." 

Oh,  the  comfort  of  a  good  Emily — a  maid  not  too  young 
and  not  too  old,  not  too  flighty  and  not  too  crabbed,  light  of 

182 


A    WORD    TAKEN    AT    PLEASURE 

hand,  sympathetic,  entirely  understanding  that  her  lady  has 
a  right  to  be  much  more  comfortable  than  she  has  ever 
thought  of  being  herself!  In  Maxon  days  Winnie  had 
possessed  a  maid.  They  seemed  far  off,  and  never  had 
there  been  one  as  good  as  Mrs.  Lenoir's  Emily.  She  had 
come  into  Mrs.  Lenoir's  life  about  the  same  time  as  Mr. 
Lenoir  had,  but  with  an  effect  that  an  impartial  observer 
could  not  but  recognize  as  not  only  more  durable,  but  also 
more  essentially  important — save  that  Lenoir  had  left  the 
money  which  made  Emily  possible.  Mrs.  Lenoir  had  paid 
for  the  money — in  five  years'  loyalty  and  service. 

Winnie  reposed  between  deliciously  fine  sheets — why,  it 
was  like  Devonshire  Street,  without  Cyril  Maxon! — and 
watched  Emily  dexterously  disposing  her  wardrobe.  It  was 
not  ample.  Some  of  the  effects  of  the  Maxon  days  she  had 
left  behind  in  her  hurried  flight;  most  of  the  rest  had  worn 
out.  But  there  were  relics  of  her  gilded  slavery.  These 
Emily  tactfully  admired;  the  humbler  purchases  of  "Mrs. 
Ledstone"  she  stowed  away  without  comment.  Also  with- 
out comment,  but  with  extraordinary  tact,  she  laid  out  the 
inferior  of  Winnie's  two  evening  dresses. 

"There's  nobody  coming  but  the  General,  Miss,"  said  she. 

"Now  why  does  she  call  me  'Miss'  —  and  who's  the 
General  ?"  These  two  problems  rose  in  Winnie's  mind, 
but  did  not  demand  instant  solution.  They  were  not  like 
the  questions  of  the  last  few  days;  they  were  more  like 
Shaylor's  Patch  conundrums — interesting,  but  not  urgent, 
willing  to  wait  for  an  idle  hour  or  a  rainy  day,  yielding  place 
to  a  shining  sun  or  a  romp  with  Alice.  They  yielded  place 
now  to  Winnie's  great  physical  comfort,  to  her  sense  of 
rescue  from  the  desolate  studio,  to  her  respite  from  the  feel- 
ing of  finality  and  of  failure.  With  immense  surprise  she 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

realized,  as  she  lay  there — in  a  quiet  hour  between  Emily's 
deft  and  charitable  unpacking  and  Emily's  return  to  get  her 
into  the  inferior  frock  (good  enough  for  that  unexplained 
General) — that  she  was  what  any  reasonably  minded  being 
would  call  happy.  Though  the  great  experiment  had  failed, 
though  Godfrey  was  at  this  moment  in  Woburn  Square, 
though  Mabel  Thurseley  existed!  "Oh,  well,  I  was  so 
tired,"  she  apologized  to  herself  shamefacedly. 

She  got  down  into  the  small  but  pretty  drawing-room  in 
good  time.  Yet  Mrs.  Lenoir  was  there  before  her,  clad  in 
a  tea-gown,  looking,  as  it  occurred  to  Winnie,  rather  like 
Mrs.  Siddons — a  cheerful  Mrs.  Siddons,  as,  indeed,  the 
great  woman  appears  to  have  been  in  private  life. 

"I  got  my  things  off  early,  so  as  to  leave  you  Emily,"  said 
the  hostess.  She  obviously  did  not  consider  that  she  had 
been  getting  anything  on. 

"What  a  dear  she  is!"  Winnie  came  to  the  fire  and  stood 
there,  a  slim-limbed  creature,  warming  herself  through  gar- 
ments easily  penetrable  by  the  welcome  blaze. 

"Quite  a  find!  The  General  sent  her  to  me.  Her  hus- 
band was  a  sergeant-major  in  his  regiment — killed  in  South 
Africa." 

The  General  again!  But  Winnie  postponed  that  ques- 
tion. Her  lips  curved  in  amusement.  "She  calls  me 
'Miss.'" 

"Better  than  that  silly  'Mrs.  Smith*  you  said  to  Bob 
Purnett.  Only  unhappy  women  try  to  make  epigrams. 
And  for  a  woman  to  be  unhappy  is  to  be  a  failure." 

"  Isn't  that  one — almost — Mrs.  Lenoir  ?" 

"Quite  quick,  my  dear!"  her  hostess  commented.  "But 
if  it  is,  it's  old.  I  told  Emily  you  were  a  second  cousin. 
I  never  know  exactly  what  it  means,  but  in  my  experience 

184 


A    WORD    TAKEN    AT    PLEASURE 

it's  quite  useful.     But  please  yourself,  Winnie.     Who  will 
you  be  ?" 

"Did  Emily  believe  what  you  told  her  ?" 

The  twinkle  came  again.  "She's  much  too  good  a  ser- 
vant ever  to  raise  that  question.  What  was  your  name  ?" 

"My  maiden  name  ?    Wilkins." 

"I  think  names  ending  in  'kins'  are  very  ugly,"  said  Mrs. 
Lenoir.  "  But  a  modification  ?  What  about  Wilson  ? 
'Winnie  Wilson'  is  quite  pretty." 

"'Miss  Winnie  Wilson'?  Isn't  it  rather — well,  rather 
late  in  the  day  for  that  ?  But  I  don't  want  to  be  Ledstone 
— and  it's  rather  unfair  to  call  myself  Maxon  still." 

"Names,"  observed  Mrs.  Lenoir,  "are  really  not  worth 
troubling  about,  so  long  as  you  don't  hurt  people's  pride.  I 
used  to  have  a  fetish-like  feeling  about  them — as  if,  I  mean, 
you  couldn't  get  rid  of  the  one  you  were  born  with,  or,  my 
dear,  take  one  you  had  no  particular  right  to.  But  one 
night,  long  ago,  somebody — I  really  forget  who — brought 
an  Oxford  don  to  supper.  We  got  on  the  subject,  and  he 
told  me  that  a  great  philosopher — named  Dobbs,  if  I  re- 
member rightly  —  defined  a  name  as  'a  word  taken  at 
pleasure  to  serve  for  a  mark.'"  She  looked  across  the 
hearth-rug,  confidently  expecting  Winnie's  approval.  "I 
liked  it,  and  it  stuck  in  my  memory." 

"It  does  make  things  simpler,  Mrs.  Lenoir." 

"Mind  you,  I  wouldn't  take  a  great  name  I  hadn't  a  right 
to.  Courtenays  and  Devereauxes  in  the  chorus  are  very  bad 
form.  But  I  don't  see  why  you  shouldn't  be  Wilson.  And 
the  'Miss'  avoids  a  lot  of  questions." 

"All  right.  Miss  Winnie  Wilson  be  it!  It  sounds  like 
a  new  toy.  And  now,  Mrs.  Lenoir,  for  the  other  problem 
that  Emily  has  raised.  Who's  the  General  ?" 

185 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

Mrs.  Lenoir  liked  her  young  friend,  but  possibly  thought 
that  she  was  becoming  a  trifle  impertinent.  Not  that  she 
minded  that;  in  her  heart  she  greeted  it  as  a  rebound  from 
misery;  in  the  young  it  often  is. 

"If  you've  any  taste  in  men — which,  up  to  now,  you've 
given  your  friends  no  reason  to  think — you'll  like  the 
General  very  much." 

"Will  he  like  me?" 

"The  only  advantage  of  age  is  that  I  sha'n't  mind  if  he 
does,  Winnie." 

Winnie  darted  toward  her.  "  What  a  dear  you've  been 
to  me  to-day!" 

"Hush!  I  think  I  hear  the  General's  step." 

The  parlor-maid — not  Emily,  but  a  young  woman,  smart 
and  a  trifle  scornful  —  announced,  "Sir  Hugh  Merriam, 
ma'am — and  dinner's  served." 


XVII 

THE   TRACK   OF   THE   RAIDER 

THE  General  was  old-fashioned;  he  liked  to  be  left 
alone  with  the  port  —  or  let  us  say  port-wine,  as  he 
always  did — after  dinner  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour;  then  he 
would  rejoin  the  ladies  for  coffee  and,  by  their  never  as- 
sumed but  always  solicited  permission,  a  cigar  in  the  draw- 
ing-room. Thus  Winnie  had  a  chance  of  gratifying  her 
lively  curiosity  about  the  handsome  old  man  with  gentle 
manners,  who  had  seen  and  done  so  much,  who  talked  so 
much  about  his  sons,  and  came  to  dine  with  Mrs.  Lenoir 
twice  a  week. 

"I've  fallen  in  love  with  your  General.  Do  tell  me 
about  him,"  she  implored  her  hostess. 

"Oh,  he's  very  distinguished.  He's  done  a  lot  of  fighting 
— India,  Egypt,  South  Africa.  He  first  made  his  name  in 
the  Kala  Kin  Expedition,  in  command  of  the  Flying 
Column.  And  he  invented  a  great  improvement  in  gun- 
carriages — he's  a  gunner,  you  know — and — " 

"I  think,"  interrupted  Winnie,  with  a  saucy  air  of 
doubt,  "that  I  meant  something  about  him — and  you, 
Mrs.  Lenoir." 

"There's  nothing  to  tell.  We're  just  friends,  and  we've 
never  been  anything  else." 

Winnie  was  sitting  on  a  stool  in  front  of  the  fire,  smoking 
13  187 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

her  Ledstone-learned  cigarette  (destined,  apparently,  to  be 
the  only  visible  legacy  of  that  episode).  She  looked  up  at 
Mrs.  Lenoir,  still  with  that  air  of  doubt. 

"Well,  why  shouldn't  I  tell  you?"  said  the  lady.  "He 
wanted  something  else,  and  I  wouldn't." 

"Were  you  in  love  with  somebody  else  ?" 

"No,  but  he'd  brought  those  boys — they  were  just  school- 
boys then — to  see  me,  and  it— it  seemed  a  shame.  He 
knew  it  was  a  shame  too,  but — well,  you  know  what  happens 
sometimes.  But,  quite  soon  after,  his  wife  fell  ill,  and  died 
in  four  or  five  days — pneumonia.  Then  he  was  glad.  But 
he  went  abroad  directly  —  without  seeing  me  —  and  was 
abroad  many  years.  When  he  came  home  and  retired,  I 
met  him  by  accident,  and  he  asked  leave  to  call.  He's  very 
lonely — so  am  I,  rather — and  he  likes  a  change  from  the 
club.  I  don't  wonder!  And,  as  you'll  have  gathered, 
we've  known  all  the  same  people  in  the  old  days,  and 
always  have  lots  to  talk  about.  That's  the  story,  Win- 
nie." 

"I  like  it.     Do  you  ever  see  the  sons  ?" 

"They  all  come  to  see  me  when  they're  home  on  leave; 
but  that's  not  often." 

"The  Major's  coming  next  month,  though.  The  General 
said  so.  Let's  see  if  I've  got  them  right.  There's  the  Major 
— he's  the  eldest — in  Egypt.  But  the  second  one  is  cleverer, 
and  has  become  a  colonel  first;  he's  in  Malta  now.  And 
then  the  one  in  India  has  only  just  got  his  troop;  he  ought 
to  have  had  it  before,  but  they  thought  he  gave  too  much 
time  to  polo  and  horse-racing  and  private  theatricals." 

"That's  Georgie — my  favorite,"  said  Mrs.  Lenoir. 

"I'm  for  the  Major — because  I  think  it's  a  shame  that 
his  younger  brother  should  be  made  a  colonel  before  him. 

188 


THE    TRACK    OF    THE    RAIDER 

I'm  glad  it's  the  Major  that's  coming  home  on  leave  next 
month." 

Mrs.  Lenoir  looked  at  Winnie  and  patted  herself  on  the 
back.  All  this  was  much  better  for  Winnie  than  the  empty 
studio.  She  knew  that  the  animation  was  in  part  an  effort, 
the  gayety  in  some  measure  assumed — and  bravely  assumed. 
But  every  moment  rescued  from  brooding  was,  to  Mrs. 
Lenoir's  mind,  so  much  to  the  good.  According  to  some 
other  ways  of  thinking,  of  course,  a  little  brooding  might 
have  done  Winnie  good,  and  would  certainly  have  been  no 
more  than  she  deserved. 

Coffee  came  in,  and,  quick  on  its  heels,  the  General.  He 
produced  his  cigar,  and  advanced  his  invariable  and  invari- 
ably apologetic  request. 

"  Please  do.  We  neither  of  us  mind,  do  we,  Winnie  ?" 
said  Mrs.  Lenoir.  There  was  really  more  reason  to  ask  the 
General  if  he  minded  Winnie's  cigarette,  which  had  come 
from  the  studio  and  was  not  of  a  very  fine  aroma. 

Winnie  stuck  to  her  stool  and  listened,  with  her  eyes  set 
on  the  fire.  At  first  the  talk  ran  still  on  the  three  sons — 
evidently  the  old  soldier's  life  was  wrapped  up  in  them — 
but  presently  the  friends  drifted  back  to  old  days,  to  the 
people  they  had  both  known.  Winnie's  ears  caught  names 
that  were  familiar  to  her,  references  to  men  and  stories 
about  men  whom  she  had  often  heard  Cyril  Maxon  and  his 
legal  guests  mention.  But  to-night  she  obtained  a  new 
view  of  them.  It  was  not  their  public  achievements  which 
occupied  and  amused  the  General  and  Mrs.  Lenoir.  They 
had  known  them  as  intimates,  and  delighted  now  to  recall 
their  ways,  their  foibles,  how  they  had  got  into  scrapes  and 
got  out  of  them  in  the  merry,  thoughtless  days  of  youth. 
Between  them  they  seemed  to  have  known  almost  everybody 

180 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

who  was  "in  the  swim"  from  thirty  years  to  a  quarter  of  a 
century  before;  if  the  General  happened  to  say,  "So  they 
told  me,  I  never  met  him  myself,"  Mrs.  Lenoir  always  said, 
"Oh,  I  did" — and  vice  versa. 

"It  was  just  before  my  dear  wife  died,"  the  General  said 
once,  in  dating  a  reminiscence. 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  Winnie  did  not  look  up. 
Then  the  General  resumed  his  story.  But  he  cut  it  rather 
short,  and  ended  with,  "  I'm  afraid  our  yarns  must  be  boring 
this  young  lady,  Clara." 

Evidently  he  accepted  Winnie  entirely  at  her  face  value — 
as  Miss  Winnie  Wilson.  The  anecdotes  and  reminiscences, 
though  intimate,  had  been  rigidly  decorous,  even  improbably 
so  in  one  or  two  cases;  and  now  he  was  afraid  that  she 
was  bored  with  what  would  certainly  interest  any  intelligent 
woman  of  the  world.  Winnie  was  amused,  yet  vexed,  and 
inclined  to  wish  she  had  not  become  Miss  Wilson.  But  she 
had  made  a  good  impression;  that  was  clear  from  the 
General's  words  when  he  took  his  leave. 

"Bertie  will  come  and  see  you  directly  he  gets  home, 
Clara.  It  '11  be  in  about  six  weeks,  I  expect."  He  turned 
to  Winnie.  "I  hope  you'll  be  kind  to  my  boy.  He  doesn't 
know  many  ladies  in  London,  and  I  want  him  to  have  a 
pleasant  holiday." 

"I  will.  And  I  wish  they  were  all  three  coming,  Sir 
Hugh." 

"That  might  end  in  a  family  quarrel,"  he  said,  with  a 
courtly  little  bow  and  a  glance  from  his  eyes,  which  had  not 
lost  their  power  of  seconding  a  compliment. 

"Well,  I  think  you've  made  a  favorable  impression, 
though  you  didn't  say  much,"  Mrs.  Lenoir  remarked  when 
he  was  gone. 

190 


THE    ANECDOTES,    THOUGH    INTIMATE,    HAD    BEEN    RIGIDLY 
DECOROUS 


THE    TRACK    OF    THE    RAIDER 

Winnie  was  standing,  with  one  foot  on  her  stool,  now. 
She  frowned  a  little. 

"I  wish  you'd  tell  him  about  me,"  she  said. 

There  was  a  pause;  Mrs.  Lenoir  was  dispassionately  con- 
sidering the  suggestion. 

"I  don't  see  much  use  in  taking  an  assumed  name,  if 
you're  going  to  tell  everybody  you  meet." 

"He's  such  a  friend  of  yours." 

"That's  got  nothing  to  do  with  it.  Now  if  it  were  a  man 
who  wanted  to  marry  you — well,  he'd  have  to  be  told,  I 
suppose,  because  you  can't  marry.  But  the  General  won't 
want  to  do  that." 

"It  seems  somehow  squarer." 

"Then  am  I  to  say  Mrs.  Maxon  or  Mrs.  Ledstone  ?" 

There  it  was!  Winnie  broke  into  a  vexed  laugh.  "Oh, 
I  suppose  we'd  better  leave  it." 

Thus  began  Winnie's  cure,  from  love  and  anger,  and  from 
Godfrey  Ledstone.  Change  of  surroundings,  new  interests, 
kindness,  and,  above  all  perhaps,  appreciation — it  was  a 
good  treatment.  Something  must  also  be  credited  to  Mrs. 
Lenoir's  attitude  toward  life.  She  had  none  of  the  snarl  of 
the  cynic;  she  thought  great  things  of  life.  But  she  recog- 
nized frankly  certain  of  its  limitations — as  that,  if  you  do 
some  things,  there  are  other  things  that  you  must  give  up; 
that  the  majority  must  be  expected  to  demand  obedience 
to  its  views  on  pain  of  penalties;  if  you  do  not  mind  the 
penalties,  you  need  not  mind  the  views,  either;  above  all, 
perhaps,  that,  if  you  have  taken  a  certain  line,  it  is  useless 
folly  to  repine  at  its  ordained  consequences.  She  was  noth- 
ing of  a  reformer — Winnie  blamed  that — but  she  was  de- 
cidedly good  at  making  the  best  of  her  world  as  she  found  it, 
or  had  made  it  for  herself;  and  this  was  the  gospel  she  of- 

191 


MRS.  MAXON    PROTESTS 

fered  for  Winnie's  acceptance.  Devoid  of  any  kind  of  peni- 
tential emotion,  it  might  yet  almost  be  described  as  a  prac- 
tical form  of  penitence. 

Winnie  heard  nothing  of  or  from  Woburn  Square;  there 
was  nobody  likely  to  give  her  news  from  that  quarter  except, 
perhaps,  Bob  Purnett,  and  he  was  away,  having  accepted 
an  invitation  to  a  fortnight's  hunting  in  Ireland.  But  an 
echo  of  the  past  came  from  elsewhere — in  a  letter  addressed 
to  her  at  Shaylor's  Patch,  forwarded  thence  to  the  studio 
(she  had  not  yet  told  the  Aikenheads  of  her  move),  and, 
after  two  or  three  days'  delay,  delivered  at  Knights- 
bridge  by  Mrs.  O'Leary  in  person.  It  was  from  her  hus- 
band's solicitors;  they  informed  her  of  his  intention  to 
take  proceedings,  and  suggested  that  they  should  be 
favored  with  the  name  of  a  firm  who  would  act  for 
her. 

Winnie  received  the  intimation  with  great  relief,  great 
surprise,  some  curiosity,  and,  it  must  be  added,  a  touch  of 
malicious  amusement.  The  relief  was  not  only  for  herself. 
It  was  honestly  for  Cyril  Maxon  also.  Why  must  he  with 
his  own  hands  adjust  a  lifelong  millstone  round  his  own 
neck  ?  Now,  like  a  sensible  man,  he  was  going  to  take  it  off. 
But  it  was  so  unlike  him  to  take  off  his  millstones;  he  felt 
such  a  pride  in  the  cumbrous  ornaments.  "What  had 
made  him  do  it?"  asked  the  curiosity;  and  the  malicious 
amusement  suggested  that,  contrary  to  all  preconceptions 
of  hers,  contrary  to  anything  he  had  displayed  to  her,  he, 
too,  must  have  his  weaknesses — in  what  direction  it  was  still 
uncertain.  The  step  he  now  took  might  be  merely  the  re- 
sult of  accumulated  rancor  against  her,  or  it  might  be  es- 
sential to  some  design  or  desire  of  his  own.  Winnie  may  be 
excused  for  not  harboring  the  idea  that  her  husband  was 

192 


THE    TRACK    OF    THE    RAIDER 

acting  out  of  consideration  for  her;  she  had  the  best  of  ex- 
cuses— that  of  being  quite  right. 

For  the  rest — well,  it  was  not  exactly  pleasant.  But  she 
seemed  so  completely  to  have  ceased  to  be  Mrs.  Maxon  that 
at  heart  it  concerned  her  little  what  people  said  of  Mrs. 
Maxon.  They — her  Maxon  circle,  the  legal  profession,  the 
public — would  not  understand  her  provocations,  her  prin- 
ciples, or  her  motives;  they  would  say  hard  and  scornful 
things.  She  was  in  safe  hiding;  she  would  not  hear  the 
things.  It  would  be  like  what  they  say  of  a  man  after  he 
has  gone  out  of  the  room  and  (as  Sir  Peter  Teazle  so  kindly 
did  in  the  play)  left  his  character  behind  him.  Of  that,  wise 
people  take  no  notice. 

But  Godfrey  ?  It  must  be  owned  that  the  thought  of  him 
came  second;  indeed,  third — after  the  aspect  which  con- 
cerned her  husband  and  that  which  touched  herself.  But 
when  it  came,  it  moved  her  to  vexation,  to  regret,  to  a  pity 
which  had  even  an  element  of  the  old  tenderness  in  it. 
Because  this  development  was  just  what  poor  Godfrey  had 
always  been  so  afraid  of,  just  what  he  hated,  a  thing  analo- 
gous to  the  position  which  in  the  end  he  had  not  been  able 
to  bear.  And  poor  Woburn  Square!  Oh,  and  poor  Mabel 
Thurseley  too,  perhaps!  What  a  lot  of  people  were  caught 
in  the  net!  The  news  of  her  husband's  action  did  much 
to  soften  her  heart  toward  Godfrey  and  toward  Woburn 
Square.  "I  really  didn't  want  to  make  them  unhappy  or 
shamed  any  more,"  she  sighed;  for  had  not  her  action  in 
the  end  produced  Cyril's  ?  But,  as  Mrs.  Lenoir  would,  no 
doubt,  point  out,  there  was  no  help  for  it — short  of  Winnie's 
suicide,  which  seemed  an  extreme  remedy,  or  would  have, 
if  it  had  ever  occurred  to  her;  it  did  not. 

Her  solicitude  was  not  misplaced.  The  high  moralists  say 

193 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

Esse  quam  videri — what  you  are  and  do  matters,  not  what 
people  think  you  are  or  what  they  may  discover  you  doing. 
A  hard,  high  doctrine!  "He  that  is  able  to  receive  it,  let 
him  receive  it."  Mr.  Cyril  Maxon  also  had  found  occasion 
to  consider  these  words. 

For  Winnie  had  been  right.  Jubilation  had  reigned  in 
Woburn  Square,  provisionally  when  Godfrey  fetched  his 
portmanteau  away  from  the  studio,  finally  and  securely  (as 
it  seemed)  when  Amy  made  known  the  result  of  her  mission. 
Father  read  his  paper  again  in  peace;  mother's  spasms 
abated.  There  was  joy  over  the  sinner;  and  the  sinner 
himself  was  not  half  as  unhappy  as  he  had  expected — may 
it  be  said,  hoped  ? — to  be.  Mercilessness  of  comment  is  out 
of  place.  He  had  been  tried  above  that  which  he  was  able. 
Yet,  if  sin  it  had  been,  it  was  not  of  the  sin  that  he  repented. 
It  had  been,  he  thought,  from  the  beginning  really  impos- 
sible on  the  basis  she  had  defined — and  extorted.  In  time 
he  had  been  bound  to  recognize  that.  But  he  wore  a 
chastened  air,  and  had  the  grace  to  seek  little  of  Miss 
Thurseley's  society.  He  took  another  studio,  in  a  street 
off  Fitzroy  Square,  and  ate  his  dinner  and  slept  at  his  fa- 
ther's house. 

Things,  then,  were  settling  down  in  Woburn  Square.  By 
dint  of  being  ignored,  Winnie  and  her  raid  on  the  family 
reputation  might  soon  be  forgotten.  The  affair  had  been 
kept  very  quiet;  that  was  the  great  thing.  (Here  Woburn 
Square  and  the  high  moralists  seem  lamentably  at  odds,  but 
the  high  moralists  also  enjoin  the  speaking  and  writing  of 
the  truth.)  It  was  over.  It  ranked  no  more  as  a  defiance; 
it  became  merely  an  indiscretion — a  thing  young  men  will 
do  now  and  then,  under  the  influence  of  designing  women. 
There  was  really  jubilation — if  only  Amy  would  have  looked 

194 


THE    TRACK    OF    THE    RAIDER 

a  little  less  gloomy  and  been  rather  more  cordial  toward  her 
brother. 

"I  don't  understand  the  girl,"  Mr.  Ledstone  complained. 
"Our  line  is  to  make  things  pleasant  for  him." 

"It's  that  woman.  She  must  have  some  extraordinary 
power,"  his  wife  pleaded.  Winnie's  extraordinary  power 
made  it  all  the  easier  to  forgive  her  son  Godfrey.  Probably 
few  young  men  would  have  resisted,  and  (this  deep  down 
in  the  mother's  heart)  not  so  very  many  had  occasion  to 
resist. 

Then  came  the  thunderbolt — from  which  jubilation  fled 
shrieking.  Who  hurled  it  ?  Human  nature,  Winnie,  Lady 
Rosaline  Deering — little  as  she  either  had  meant  to  do  any- 
thing unkind  to  the  household  in  Woburn  Square  ?  Surely 
even  the  high  moralists — or  shall  we  say  the  high  gods,  who 
certainly  cannot  make  less,  and  may  perhaps  make  more, 
allowances  ? — would  have  pitied  Mr.  Ledstone.  Beyond 
all  the  disappointment  and  dismay,  he  felt  himself  the  victim 
of  a  gross  breach  of  trust.  He  fumed  up  and  down  the  back 
room  on  the  ground-floor  which  was  called  his  study — the 
place  he  read  the  papers  in  and  where  he  slept  after  lunch. 

"  But  he  said  there  were  to  be  no  proceedings.  He  said 
he  didn't  believe  in  it.  He  said  it  distinctly  more  than  once." 

Mrs.  Ledstone  had  gone  to  her  room.  The  sinner  had 
fled  to  his  studio,  leaving  Amy  to  break  the  news  to  Mr. 
Ledstone;  Amy  was  growing  accustomed  to  this  office. 

"I  suppose  he's  changed  his  mind,"  said  Amy,  with  a 
weary  listlessness. 

"But  he  said  it.  I  remember  quite  well.  'I  am  not  a 
believer  in  divorce.'  And  you  remember  I  came  home  and 
told  you  there  were  to  be  no  proceedings?  Monstrous! 
In  a  man  of  his  position!  Well,  one  ought  to  be  able  to 

195 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

depend  on  his  word!  Monstrous!"  Exclamation  followed 
exclamation  like  shots  from  a  revolver — but  a  revolver  not 
working  very  smoothly. 

"It  '11  have  to  go  through,  I  suppose,  daddy." 

"How  can  you  take  it  like  that?  What '11  your  Uncle 
Martin  say  ?  And  Aunt  Lena — and  the  Winfreys  ?  It  '11 
be  a  job  to  live  this  down!  And  my  son — a  man  with  my 
record!  He  distinctly  said  there  were  to  be  no  proceed- 
ings. I  left  him  on  that  understanding.  What  '11  Mrs. 
Thurseley  think  ?  I  shall  go  and  see  this  man  Maxon 
myself."  Of  all  sinners,  Mr.  Maxon  was  ranking  top  in 
Woburn  Square  to-day — easily  above  his  wife,  even. 

"I  don't  expect  that  '11  do  any  good." 

"Amy,  you  really  are —  Oh,  well,  child,  I'm  half  off  my 
head.  A  man  has  no  right  to  say  a  thing  like  that  unless  he 
means  it.  'No  proceedings,'  he  said!" 

"I  expect  he  did  mean  it.  Something's  changed  him,  I 
suppose." 

Something  had — and  it  never  occurred  to  Cyril  Maxon 
that  the  Ledstone  family  had  any  right  to  a  say  in  the 
matter.  He  would  have  been  astonished  to  hear  the  inter- 
pretation that  Mr.  Ledstone  put  on  the  interview  which  he 
remembered  only  with  vivid  disgust,  with  the  resentment 
due  to  an  intrusion  entirely  unwarrantable.  So  the  poor  old 
gentleman  must  be  left  fuming  up  and  down,  quite  vainly 
and  uselessly  clamoring  against  the  unavoidable,  an  object 
for  compassion,  even  though  he  was  thinking  more  of  the 
Thurseleys,  of  Uncle  Martin,  Aunt  Lena,  and  the  Winfreys 
than  of  how  his  son  stood  toward  divine  or  social  law  on 
the  one  side,  and  toward  a  deserted  woman  on  the  other  ? 
Respectability  is,  on  the  whole,  a  good  servant  to  morality, 
but  sometimes  the  servant  sits  in  the  master's  seat. 

196 


THE    TRACK    CfF    THE    RAIDER 

The  culprit's  state  was  no  more  enviable  than  his  father's; 
indeed,  it  appeared  to  himself  so  much  worse  that  he  was 
disposed  to  grudge  his  family  the  consternation  which  they 
displayed  so  prodigally  and  to  find  in  it  an  unfair  aggrava- 
tion of  a  burden  already  far  too  heavy.  Nothing,  perhaps, 
makes  a  man  feel  so  ill-used  as  to  do  a  mean  thing  and  then 
be  balked  of  the  object  for  whose  sake  he  did  it.  A  mean 
thing  it  undoubtedly  was,  even  if  it  had  been  the  right  thing 
also  in  the  eyes  of  many  people — for  to  such  unfortunate 
plights  can  we  sometimes  be  reduced  by  our  own  actions 
that  there  really  is  not  a  thing  both  right  and  straight  left 
to  do;  and  it  had  been  done  in  a  mean  and  cowardly  way. 
Yet  it  was  now  no  good.  Things  had  just  seemed  to  be 
settling  down  quietly;  he  was  being  soothed  by  the  con- 
solatory petting  of  his  mother  and  father.  Now  this  hap- 
pened— and  all  was  lost.  His  decent  veil  of  obscurity  was 
rent  in  twain;  he  was  exposed  to  the  rude  stare  of  the  world, 
to  the  shocked  eyes  of  Aunt  Lena  and  the  rest.  He  had 
probably  lost  the  girl  toward  whom  his  thoughts  had  turned 
as  a  comfortable  and  satisfactory  solution  of  all  his  dif- 
ficulties; and  he  had  the  perception  to  know  that,  whether 
he  had  lost  Mabel  or  not,  he  had  finally  and  irretrievably 
lost  Winnie.  Everybody  would  be  against  him  now,  both 
the  men  of  the  law  and  the  men  of  the  code;  he  had  been 
faithful  to  the  standards  of  neither. 

He  had  not  the  grace  to  hate  himself;  that  would  have 
been  a  promising  state  of  mind.  But,  fuming  up  and  down 
in  his  studio  off  Fitzroy  Square  (just  like  his  father  in  the 
back  room  in  Woburn  Square)  and  lashing  himself  into 
impotent  fury,  he  began  to  feel  that  he  hated  everybody 
else.  They  had  all  had  a  hand  in  his  undoing — Bob  Purnett 
and  his  lot,  with  their  easy-going  moralities;  Shaylor's  Patch 

197 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

and  its  lot,  with  their  silly  speculations  and  vaporings  over 
things  they  knew  nothing  about;  Cyril  Maxon,  who  did  not 
stand  by  what  he  said  nor  by  what  he  believed;  Winnie,  with 
ridiculous,  exacting  theories;  Mabel  Thurseley  (poor,  blame- 
less Mabel!),  by  attracting  his  errant  eyes  and  leading  him 
on  to  flirtation;  his  parents,  by  behaving  as  if  the  end  of  the 
world  had  come;  his  sister,  because  she  despised  him  and 
had  sympathy  with  the  deserted  woman.  He  was  in  a 
sad  case.  Nobody  had  behaved  or  was  behaving  decent- 
ly toward  him,  nobody  considered  the  enormous — the  im- 
possible— difficulties  of  his  situation  from  beginning  to  end. 
Was  there  no  justice  in  the  world — nor  even  any  charity  ? 
What  an  ending — what  an  ending — to  those  pleasant  days 
of  dalliance  at  Shaylor's  Patch!  What  was  deep  down  in 
his  heart  was,  "And  I  could  have  managed  it  all  right  my 
way,  if  she'd  only  have  let  me!" 

He  did  not  go  home  to  dinner  that  evening.  He  slunk 
back  late  at  night,  hoping  that  all  his  family  would  be  in 
bed.  Yet  when  he  found  that  accusing  sister  sitting  alone 
in  the  drawing-room,  he  grounded  a  grievance  on  her  soli- 
tude. She  was  sewing — and  she  went  on  sewing  in  a  de- 
termined manner  and  in  unbroken  silence. 

"Well,  where's  everybody?  Have  you  nothing  to  say? 
I'm  sent  to  Coventry,  I  suppose  ?" 

"Mother's  in  bed.  Oh,  she's  pretty  easy  now;  you 
needn't  worry.  Daddy's  in  his  study;  he  was  tired  out,  and 
I  expect  he's  gone  to  sleep.  I'm  quite  ready  to  talk  to  you, 
Godfrey." 

Perhaps — but  her  tone  did  not  forebode  a  cheerful  con- 
versation. 

He  got  up  from  the  chair  into  which  he  had  plunged  him- 
self when  he  came  in. 

198 


THE    TRACK    OF    THE    RAIDER 

"  Pretty  gay  here,  isn't  it  ?  Oh,  you  do  know  how  to  rub 
it  in,  all  of  you!  I  should  think  living  in  this  house  would 
drive  any  man  to  drink  and  blue  ruin  in  a  fortnight." 

Amy  sewed  on.  She  had  offered  to  talk,  but  what  he  said 
seemed  to  call  for  no  comment.  He  strode  to  the  door  and 
opened  it  violently.  "I'm  off  to  bed." 

"Good-night,  Godfrey,"  said  Amy;  her  speech  was 
smothered  by  the  banging  of  the  door. 

Poor  sinner!  Poor  creature!  Winnie  Maxon  might  in- 
deed plead  that  her  theory  had  not  been  fairly  tried;  she 
had  chosen  the  wrong  man  for  the  experiment. 

Here,  then — save  for  the  one  formality  on  which  Cyril 
Maxon  now  insisted — Winnie  and  the  Ledstone  family  were 
at  the  parting  of  the  ways.  Their  concurrence  had  been 
fortuitous — it  was  odd  what  people  met  one  another  at 
Shaylor's  Patch,  Stephen's  appetite  for  humanity  being  so 
voracious — fortuitous  and  ill-starred  for  all  parties.  They 
would  not  let  her  into  their  life;  they  would  not  rest  till  they 
had  ejected  her  from  her  tainted  connection  with  it.  Now 
they  went  out  of  hers.  She  remembered  Godfrey  as  her 
great  disappointment,  her  lost  illusion,  her  blunder;  Amy, 
as  it  were,  with  a  friendly  stretching-out  of  hands  across  a 
gulf  impassable;  the  old  folk  with  understanding  and  tolera- 
tion— since  they  did  no  other  than  what  they  and  she  herself 
had  been  taught  to  regard  as  right.  How  could  the  old 
change  their  ideas  of  right  ? 

Their  memory  of  her  was  far  harder — naturally,  perhaps. 
She  was  a  raider,  a  brigand,  a  sadly  disturbing  and  destruc- 
tive invader.  At  last  she  had  been  driven  out,  but  a  track  of 
desolation  spread  behind  her  retreating  steps.  Indeed,  there 
were  spots  where  the  herbage  never  grew  again.  The  old 
folk  forgave  their  son  and  lived  to  be  proud  of  him  once  more. 

199 


MRS.  MAXON    PROTESTS 

But  Amy  Ledstone  had  gauged  her  brother  with  an  accu- 
racy destructive  of  love;  and  within  twelve  months  Mabel 
Thurseley  married  a  stockbroker,  an  excellent  fellow  with 
a  growing  business.  She  never  knew  it,  but  she,  at  least, 
had  cause  for  gratitude  to  Winnie  Maxon. 

Godfrey  returned  to  the  obedience  of  the  code.  He  was 
at  home  there.  It  was  an  air  that  he  could  breathe.  The 
air  of  Shaylor's  Patch  was  not — nor  that  of  the  Kensington 
studio. 


XVIII 

NOTHING    SERIOUS 

"  T"VY  the  law  came  sin — "  quoted  Stephen  Aikenhead. 

L3  "He  only  meant  the  Jewish  law.  Man,  ye're 
hopeless."  Dennehy  tousled  his  hair. 

The  February  afternoon  was  mild;  Stephen  was  a  fanatic 
about  open  air,  if  about  nothing  else.  The  four  sat  on  the 
lawn  at  Shaylor's  Patch,  well  wrapped  up — Stephen,  Tora, 
and  Dennehy  in  rough  country  wraps,  Winnie  in  a  stately 
sealskin  coat,  the  gift  of  Mrs.  Lenoir.  She  had  taken  to 
dressing  Winnie,  in  spite  of  half-hearted  remonstrances,  and 
with  notable  results. 

"  But  the  deuce  is,"  Stephen  continued — this  time  on  his 
own  account  and,  therefore,  less  authoritatively — "that 
when  you  take  away  the  law,  the  sin  doesn't  go  too." 

Winnie's  story  was  by  now  known  to  these  three  good 
friends.  Already  it  was  being  discussed  more  as  a  problem 
than  as  a  tragedy.  Some  excuse  might  be  found  in  Winnie's 
air  and  manner.  She  was  in  fine  looks  and  good  spirits,  in- 
terested and  alert,  distinctly  resilient  against  the  blows  of 
fortune  and  the  miscarriage  of  theoretical  experiments.  So 
much  time  and  change  had  done  for  her. 

"And  it  seems  just  as  true  of  any  other  laws,  even  if  he 
did  mean  the  Jewish,  Dick,"  Stephen  ended. 

"Don't  lots  of  husbands,  tied  up  just  as  tight  as  anything 

201 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

or  anybody  can  tie  them,  cut  loose  and  run  away  just  the 
same  ?"  asked  Tora. 

"And  wives  ?"  added  Winnie — who  had  done  it,  and  had 
a  right  to  speak. 

"It's  like  the  old  dispute  about  the  franchise  and  the 
agricultural  laborer.  I  remember  my  father  telling  me 
about  it  somewhere  in  the  eighties — when  I  was  quite  a 
small  boy.  One  side  said  the  laborer  oughtn't  to  have  the 
vote  till  he  was  fit  for  it,  the  other  said  he'd  never  be  fit  for 
it  till  he  had  it." 

"Oh,  well,  that's  to  some  extent  like  the  woman  question," 
Tora  remarked. 

"Are  we  to  change  the  law  first  or  people  first?  Hope 
a  better  law  will  make  better  people,  or  tell  the  people 
they  can't  have  a  better  law  till  they're  better  them- 
selves ?" 

"Stephen,  you've  a  glimmer  of  sense  in  you  this  after- 
noon." 

"Well,  Dick,  we  don't  want  to  end  by  merely  making 
things  easier  for  brutes  and  curs — male  or  female." 

"I  think  you're  a  little  wanting  in  the  broad  view  to-day, 
Stephen.  You're  too  much  affected  by  Winnie's  particular 
case.  Isn't  it  better  to  get  rid  of  brutes  and  curs,  anyhow  ? 
The  quicker  and  easier,  the  better."  Tora  was,  as  usual, 
uncompromising. 

"Everybody  seems  to  put  a  good  point.  That's  the 
puzzle,"  said  Stephen,  who  was  obviously  enjoying  the 
puzzle  very  much. 

"Oh,  ye're  not  even  logical  to-day,  Tora,"  Dennehy 
complained,  "which  I  will  admit  you  sometimes  are,  ac- 
cording to  your  wrong-headed  principles.  Ye  call  the  man 
a  brute  or  a  cur,  and  this  and  that — oh,  ye  meant  Godfrey! 

202 


NOTHING    SERIOUS 

What's  the  man  done  that  he  hadn't  a  right  to  do  on  your 
own  showing  ?     His  manners  were  bad,  maybe." 

"It's  our  own  showing  that  we're  now  engaged  in  exam- 
ining, if  you'll  permit  us,  Dick,"  Stephen  rejoined,  imper- 
turbably.  "When  a  man's  considering  whether  he's  been 
wrong,  it's  a  pity  to  scold  him;  because  the  practice  is  both 
rare  and  laudable." 

"Oh,  you  mustn't  even  consider  whether  I've  been  wrong, 
Stephen,"  Winnie  cried.  "Wrong  in  principle,  I  mean. 
As  to  the  particular  person — but  I  don't  want  to  abuse  him, 
poor  fellow.  His  environment — " 

"That's  a  damnable  word,  saving  your  presence,"  Den- 
nehy  interrupted.  "Nowadays  whenever  a  scoundrel  does 
a  dirty  trick,  he  lays  it  to  the  account  of  his  environ- 
ment." 

"  But  that's  just  what  I  meant,  Dick." 

"Say  the  devil,  and  ye're  nearer  the  mark,  Wiruiie." 

"Environment's  more  hopeful,"  Stephen  suggested. 
"You  see,  we  may  be  able  to  change  that.  Over  your 
protege  we  have  no  jurisdiction." 

"He  may  have  over  you,  though,  some  day!  Oh,  I'll  go 
for  a  walk  and  clear  my  head  of  all  your  nonsense." 

"Don't  forget  you  promised  to  take  me  to  the  station 
after  tea,"  said  Winnie. 

"Forget  it!"  exclaimed  Dick  Dennehy,  in  scorn  in- 
describable. "Now,  will  I  forget  it — is  it  likely,  Winnie  ?" 
He  swung  off  into  the  house  to  get  his  walking-stick. 

Tora  Aikenhead  shook  her  head  in  patient  reproof.  No 
getting  reason  into  Dick's,  no  hope  of  it  at  all!  It  was  just 
Dick's  opinion  of  her. 

A  short   silence   followed   Dennehy 's   departure.      Then 
Stephen  Aikenhead  spoke  again: 
14  203 


MRS.  MAXON    PROTESTS 

"You've  had  a  rough  time,  Winnie.  Are  you  sorry  you 
ever  went  in  for  it  ?" 

"No,  it  was  the  only  thing  to  try;  and  it  has  resulted — 
or  is  just  going  to — in  my  being  free.  But  I  did  fail  in  one 
thing.  I  was  much  more  angry  with  Godfrey  than  I  had 
any  right  to  be.  I  was  angry — yes,  angry,  not  merely 
grieved — because  he  left  me,  as  well  as  because  he  was 
afraid  to  do  it  in  a  straightforward  way.  I  didn't  live  up  to 
my  theories  there." 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  think  any  theory  easy  to  live  up  to," 
said  Tora.  "Is  the  ordinary  theory  of  marriage  easy  to  live 
up  to,  either  ?" 

"It's  always  interesting  to  see  how  few  people  live  up  to 
their  theories."  Stephen  smiled.  "It  seems  to  me  your 
husband  isn't  living  up  to  his." 

"No,  he  isn't,  and  it's  rather  consoling.  I  don't  fancy  it 
ever  entered  his  head  that  he  would  have  to  try  it  in  practice 
himself.  Rather  your  own  case,  isn't  it,  Stephen  ?  You've 
never  really  found  what  any — any  difficulty  could  mean  to 
you." 

"Oh,  I  know  I'm  accused  of  that.  I  can't  help  it;  it's 
absolutely  impossible  to  get  up  a  row  with  Tora.  And  even 
I  don't  say  that  you  ought  to  walk  out  of  the  house  just  for 
the  fun  of  it!" 

"We  prove  our  theory  best  by  the  fact  of  the  theory  mak- 
ing no  difference,"  said  Tora. 

"I  suppose  that  in  the  end  it's  only  the  failures  who  want 
theories  at  all,"  Winnie  mused. 

"  Probably — with  the  happy  result  of  reducing,  pro  tanto, 
the  practical  importance  of  the  subject,  without  depriving 
it  of  its  speculative  interest,"  laughed  Stephen.  "Love, 
union,  parentage,  partnership — it's  good  to  have  them  all, 

204 


NOTHING    SERIOUS 

but,  as  life  goes  on,  a  lot  of  people  manage  with  the  last  two 
— or  even  with  only  the  last.  It  grows  into  a  pretty  strong 
tie.  Well,  Winnie,  you  seem  to  have  come  through  fairly 
well,  and  I  hope  you  won't  have  much  more  trouble  over 
the  business." 

"I  sha'n't  have  any,  to  speak  of.  I've  put  it  all  in  Hobart 
Gaynor's  hands.  I  went  to  see  him  and  told  him  all  he 
wanted  to  know.  He's  taken  charge  of  the  whole  thing; 
I  really  need  hear  no  more  about  it.  He  was  awfully  kind 
—just  his  dear  old  self."  She  smiled.  "Well,  short  of 
asking  me  to  his  house,  you  know." 

"Oh,  that's  his  wife,"  said  Tora. 

"Mrs.  Gaynor  seems  to  live  up  to  her  theories,  at  any 
rate,"  chuckled  Stephen. 

"It's  not  so  difficult  to  live  up  to  your  theories  about  other 
people.  It's  about  yourself,"  said  Winnie. 

"I  think  your  going  to  Mrs.  Lenoir's  is  such  a  perfect  ar- 
rangement." Tora  characteristically  ignored  the  large  body 
of  opinion  which  would  certainly  be  against  her  on  the 
question. 

"  I'm  very  happy  there — she's  so  kind.  And  I  seem  quite 
a  fixture.  I've  been  there  nearly  two  months,  and  now 
she  says  I'm  to  go  abroad  with  her  in  the  spring."  She 
paused  for  a  moment.  "The  General's  very  kind,  too.  In 
fact,  I  think  he  likes  me  very  much." 

"Who's  the  General  ?     I  don't  know  about  him." 

Winnie  explained  sufficiently,  and  added,  "Of  course,  he 
thinks  I'm  just  Miss  Wilson.  Mrs.  Lenoir  says  it's  all 
right,  but  I  can't  feel  it's  quite  straight." 

"As  he  appears  to  be  nearly  seventy,  and  Mrs.  Lenoir's 
friend,  if  anybody's — "  Stephen  suggested. 

Winnie  smiled  and  blushed  a  little.  "Well,  you  see,  the 

205 


MRS.  MAXON    PROTESTS 

truth  is  that  it's  not  only  the  General.  He's  got  a  son. 
Well,  he's  got  three,  but  one  of  them  turned  up  about  a 
fortnight  ago." 

"Oh,  did  he?    Where  from?" 

"From  abroad — on  long  leave.  It's  the  eldest — the 
Major." 

"Does  he  like  you  very  much,  too,  Winnie  ?" 

Winnie  looked  across  the  lawn.  "It  seems  just  con- 
ceivable that  he  might — complicate  matters,"  she  murmured. 
"I  haven't  spoken  to  Mrs.  Lenoir  about  that — aspect  of  it." 

Stephen  was  swift  on  the  scent  of  another  problem.  "  Oh, 
and  you  mean,  if  he  did — well,  show  signs — how  much 
ought  he  to  be  told  about  Miss  Wilson  ?" 

"Yes.  And  perhaps  even  before  the  signs  were  what 
you'd  call  very  noticeable.  Wouldn't  it  be  fair  ?  Because 
he  doesn't  seem  to  me  at  all  a — a  theoretical  kind  of  person. 
I  should  think  his  ideas  are  what  you  might  call — " 

"Shall  we  say  traditional — so  as  to  be  quite  impartial 
toward  the  Major  ?" 

"Yes.     And  especially  about  women,  I  should  think." 

Stephen  looked  across  at  his  wife,  smiling.  "Well, 
Tora  ?" 

Without  hesitation  Tora  gave  her  verdict.  "If  you'd 
done  things  that  you  yourself  knew  or  thought  to  be  dis- 
graceful, you  ought  to  tell  him  before  he  grows  fond  of  you. 
But  you're  not  bound  to  tell  him  what  you've  done,  on  the 
chance  of  his  thinking  it  disgraceful,  when  you  don't." 

"I  expect  it's  more  than  a  chance,"  Winnie  murmured. 

"I'm  groping  after  Tora's  point.  I  haven't  quite  got  it. 
From  the  Major's  point  of  view,  in  the  hypothetical  cir- 
cumstances we're  discussing,  what's  of  importance  is  not 
what  Winnie  thinks,  but  what  he  does." 

206 


NOTHING    SERIOUS 

"What's  important  to  the  Major,"  Tora  replied,  "is  that 
he  should  fall  in  love  with  a  good  woman.  Good  women 
may  do  what  the  Major  thinks  disgraceful,  but  they  don't 
do  what  they  themselves  think  disgraceful.  Or,  if  they 
ever  do,  they  repent  and  confess  honestly." 

"Oh,  she's  got  an  argument!  She  always  has.  Still, 
could  a  good  woman  let  herself  be  fallen  in  love  with  under 
something  like  false  pretences  ?" 

"There  will  be  no  false  pretences,  Stephen.  She  will 
be — she  practically  is — an  unmarried  woman,  and,  if  she 
married  him,  she'd  marry  him  as  such.  The  rest  is  all 
over." 

"It  may  be  atavistic — relics  of  my  public  school  and  so 
on — but  it  doesn't  seem  to  me  quite  the  fair  thing,"  Stephen 
persisted;  "to  keep  him  in  the  dark  about  our  young  friend, 
Miss  Wilson,  I  mean." 

"I  think  I  agree  with  you,  Stephen."  Winnie  smiled. 
"If  he  does  show  signs,  that's  to  say!" 

"Oh,  only  if  he  shows  signs,  of  course.  Otherwise,  it's 
in  no  way  his  business." 

"  Because,  whatever  his  rights  may  be,  why  should  I  risk 
making  him  unhappy?  Besides,  in  a  certain  event,  he 
might  find  out  when  it  was — from  his  point  of  view — too 
late." 

Stephen  laughed.  "At  least  admit,  Tora,  that  from  a 
merely  practical  point  of  view  there's  something  to  be  said 
for  telling  people  things  that  they  may  find  out  for  them- 
selves at  an  uncomfortably  late  hour." 

"Oh,  I  thought  we  were  trying  to  get  a  true  view  of  a 
man's — or  a  woman's — rights  in  such  a  case,"  said  Tora, 
with  lofty  scorn.  "  But  it  seems  I'm  in  a  minority." 

"You  wouldn't  be  happy  if  you  weren't,  my  dear.  It's 

207 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

getting  dusk,  and  here  comes  Dick  back.  Let's  go  in  to 
tea." 

Dick  Dennehy  often  grew  hot  in  argument,  but  his  vexa- 
tion never  lasted  long.  Over  tea  he  was  in  great  spirits, 
and  talked  eagerly  about  a  new  prospect  which  had  opened 
before  him.  The  post  he  held  as  correspondent  was  a  poor 
affair,  ill-paid  and  leading  to  nothing.  He  had  the  chance 
of  being  appointed  a  leader-writer  on  a  London  daily  paper 
— a  post  offering  a  great  advance  both  in  pay  and  in  position. 
The  only  possible  difficulty  arose  from  his  religious  convic- 
tions; they  might,  on  occasion,  clash  with  the  policy  of  the 
paper — in  matters  concerning  education,  for  instance. 

"But  they're  good  enough  to  say  they  think  so  well  of  me 
in  every  other  way  that  the  little  matter  may  probably  admit 
of  adjustment." 

"Now  don't  you  go  back  on  your  theories — or,  really 
where  are  we  ?"  said  Stephen,  chaffingly. 

"I  won't  do  that;  I  won't  do  that.  I  should  be  relieved 
of  dealing  with  those  questions.  And,  Stephen,  my  boy, 
I'd  have  a  chance  of  a  decent  place  to  live  in  and  of  being 
able  to  put  by  my  old-age  pension." 

They  all  entered  eagerly  into  the  discussion  of  these  rosy 
dreams,  and  it  was  carried,  nem.  con.,  that  Dick  must  build 
himself  a  "week-end"  cottage  at  Nether  End,  as  near  as 
might  be  to  Shaylor's  Patch.  Perhaps  Winnie  could  find 
one  to  suit  her,  too! 

"And  we'll  all  sit  and  jaw  till  the  curtain  falls,"  cried 
Stephen  Aikenhead,  expressing  his  idea  of  a  happy  life. 

"Ye're  good  friends  here,  for  all  your  nonsense,"  said 
Dennehy.  "I'd  ask  no  better." 

"Moreover,  Dick,  you  can  marry.  You  can  tie  yourself 
up,  as  Tora  puts  it,  just  as  tightly  as  you  like.  Choose  a 

208 


NOTHING    SERIOUS 

woman,  if  possible,  with  some  breadth  of  view.  I  want  you 
to  have  your  chance." 

"Oh,  I'm  not  likely  to  be  marrying."  A  cloud  seemed 
to  pass  over  his  cheery  face.  But  it  was  gone  in  a  moment. 
"Well,  who'd  look  at  me,  anyhow?" 

"I  think  you'd  make  an  excellent  husband,  Dick,"  said 
Winnie.  "  I  should  marry  you — yes,  even  tie  you  up — with 
the  utmost  confidence." 

He  gave  her  a  queer  look,  half-humorous,  half-resentful. 
"Don't  be  saying  such  things,  Winnie,  or  ye'll  turn  my 
head  and  destroy  my  peace  of  mind." 

"Oh,  last  time  I  flirted  with  you,  you  said  you  liked  it!" 
she  reminded  him,  laughing. 

On  the  way  to  the  station,  Winnie  walked  with  her  arm 
through  his,  for  the  evening  had  fallen  dark  and  the  country 
road  was  rough.  With  a  little  pressure  of  her  hand,  she 
said,  "I'm  so  glad — so  glad — of  the  new  prospects,  Dick. 
I  believe  in  you,  you  know,  though  we  do  differ  so 
much." 

He  was  silent  for  a  moment,  and  then  asked,  abruptly, 
"And  what  prospects  have  you  ?" 

"Oh,  I  suppose  I'm  rather  like  the  politician  who  had 
his  future  behind  him.  But  I  haven't  made  up  my  mind 
what  to  do.  I'm  living  rather  from  hand  to  mouth  just 
now,  and  taking  a  holiday  from  thinking." 

"  Oh,  I'll  mind  my  own  business,  if  that's  what  you  mean." 

"  Dick,  how  can  you  ?  Of  course  it  wasn't.  Please  don't 
be  huffy  about  nothing." 

"I'm  worried  about  you.  Don't  let  those  people  up  at 
the  Patch  get  at  you  again,  Winnie — for  pity's  sake,  don't! 
Take  care  of  yourself,  my  dear.  My  heart  bleeds  to  see  you 
where  you  stand  to-day,  and  if  you  got  into  any  other 

209 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

trouble — you  don't  understand  that  you're  a  woman  a  man 
might  do  bad  as  well  as  good  things  for." 

Emotion  was  strong  in  his  voice;  Winnie  lightly  attrib- 
uted it  to  his  nationality. 

"Don't  fret  about  me.  I've  got  to  pay  for  my  blun- 
ders, and,  if  I've  any  sense  at  all,  I  shall  be  wiser  in 
future." 

"If  ye're  ever  inclined  to  another  man,  for  God's  sake 
try  him,  test  him,  prove  him.  Ye  can't  afford  another  mis- 
take, Winnie.  It  'd  kill  you,  wouldn't  it  ?" 

"I  shouldn't — like  it,"  she  answered,  slowly.  "Yes,  I 
shall  be  cautious,  Dick.  And  it  would  take  a  good  deal  to 
make  me  what  you  call  'inclined  to'  any  man  just  yet." 
She  broke  into  a  laugh.  "  But  it's  your  domestic  prospects 
that  we  were  discussing  this  afternoon!" 

"I  have  none,"  he  answered  shortly,  almost  sourly. 

"Oh,  you've  only  just  begun  to  think  of  it,"  she 
laughed.  "  Don't  despair  of  finding  somebody  worthy 
some  day!" 

They  had  just  reached  the  station — nearly  a  quarter  of 
an  hour  ahead  of  their  time.  Dennehy  was  going  back  to 
sleep  at  the  Aikenheads',  but  he  sat  down  with  her  in  the 
waiting-room  under  a  glaring  gas-lamp,  to  wait  for  the  train. 
Seen  in  the  light,  Dennehy's  face  looked  sad  and  troubled. 
Winnie  was  struck  by  his  expression. 

"Dick,"  she  said,  gently,"!  hope  we  haven't  been  chaffing 
you  when — when  there's  something  serious  ?" 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "No,  no,  ye  couldn't  call  it 
serious." 

"I  believe  it  is,  because  you  were  in  good  spirits  till  we 
began  about  that.  Then  you  looked  funny  and — well,  you 
don't  look  at  all  funny  now.  If  there  is  anything — oh,  don't 

210 


NOTHING    SERIOUS 

despair!  And  all  good,  good  wishes,  dear  Dick!  Oh,  what 
a  pity  this  should  come,  just  when  everything  else  is  looking 
so  bright  for  you!" 

"I  tell  ye,  Winnie,  there's  nothing  serious." 
Winnie  nodded  an  entirely  unreal  acquiescence.     "Very 
well,  my  friend,"  she  said. 

A  long  silence  fell  between  them.  In  direct  disobedience 
to  a  large  notice,  Dennehy  lit  a  cigarette  and  smoked  it 
quickly,  still  looking  sad  and  moody.  Winnie,  troubled  by 
his  trouble  and  unconvinced  by  his  denial,  was  wondering 
why  in  the  world  she  had  never  thought  of  such  a  thing 
happening  to  Dick  Dennehy.  Why  not  ?  There  was  no 
reason;  he  was  a  man,  like  the  rest.  Only  we  are  in  the 
habit  of  taking  partial  and  one-sided  views  of  our  friends 
and  neighbors.  The  most  salient  aspect  of  them  alone 
catches  our  eye.  To  cover  the  whole  ground  we  have 
neither  time  nor,  generally,  opportunity.  They  come  to 
stand,  to  us,  for  one  quality  or  characteristic — just  as  the 
persons  in  a  novel  or  a  play  often,  perhaps  generally,  do, 
however  much  the  writer  may  have  endeavored  to  give  the 
whole  man  on  his  canvas.  Now  the  quality  of  lover — of 
even  potential  lover — had  never  seemed  to  associate  itself  at 
all  necessarily  or  insistently  with  Dick  Dennehy,  as  it  did, 
at  once  and  of  necessity,  with  Godfrey  Ledstone.  So  Win- 
nie had  just  not  thought  of  it.  Yet  she  knew  enough  to  un- 
derstand how  it  is  that  this  very  kind  of  man  takes  love  hard, 
when  it  does  chance  to  find  him  out — takes  it  hard  and  keeps 
it  long — long  after  the  susceptible  man  has  got  over  his 
latest  attack  of  recurrent  fever.  Was  poor  Dick  Dennehy 
really  hard  hit?  "Who'd  look  at  me,  anyhow?"  he  had 
asked.  Well,  he  certainly  was  not  handsome.  But  Winnie 
remembered  her  two  handsome  men  "I  should  like  to 

211 


MRS.  MAXON    PROTESTS 

have  a  word  with  that  girl!"  she  thought.  Her  reference 
was  to  Dick's  hard-hearted  mistress. 

But  Winnie  was  not  of  the  women — if  indeed  they  exist — 
whose  innocence  merges  in  denseness  and  who  can  success- 
fully maintain  for  a  twelvemonth  a  total  ignorance  of  the 
feelings  of  a  man  with  whom  they  are  thrown  into  famil- 
iar acquaintance.  Suddenly,  some  two  minutes  before  her 
train  was  due,  her  brain  got  to  work — seized  on  the  pieces 
of  the  puzzle  with  its  quick  perception.  Here  was  a  man, 
naturally  ardent,  essentially  sanguine,  in  despair — surely 
about  a  woman  ?  He  did  not  deny  the  woman,  though  he 
protested  that  the  matter  was  not  "serious."  Merely  to 
look  at  him  now  proved  it,  for  the  moment  at  least,  grievous. 
Well,  for  "serious"  she  read  practicable;  for  "not  serious" 
she  substituted  hopeless.  Then  he  had  looked  at  her  in 
that  queer  way;  the  words  had  been  all  right,  conceived  in 
the  appropriate  vein  of  jocular  flirtation;  but  the  look  was 
out  of  joint.  And  then  his  extreme  and  emotional  concern 
for  her  welfare  and  prudent  conduct!  Would  he,  even 
though  a  Celt,  have  felt  that  anxiety  quite  so  keenly  if  an- 
other and  hopeless  affection  had  been  dominating  his  mind  ? 
"Who'd  look  at  me,  anyhow?"  That  protest  his  modesty 
made  consistent  with  an  aspiration  for  any  lady;  it  need 
not  be  taken  too  seriously.  But  his  abrupt,  curt  answer 
about  his  prospects — "I  have  none" — ? 

The  pieces  of  the  puzzle  seemed  to  fit  pretty  well,  yet  the 
proof  was  not  conclusive.  Say  that  the  evidence  was  con- 
sistent, rather  than  demonstrative.  Somehow,  intangibly 
and  beyond  definition,  there  was  something  in  the  man's 
bearing,  in  his  attitude,  in  the  totality  of  his  words  and  de- 
meanor, which  enforced  the  conviction.  There  even  seemed 
an  atmosphere  in  the  bare,  dirty  little  waiting-room  which 

212 


NOTHING    SERIOUS 

contained  and  conveyed  it — something  coming  unseen  from 
him  to  her,  in  spite  of  all  his  dogged  effort  to  resist  the 
transference.  He  smoked  a  second  cigarette  fiercely.  Why, 
when  he  had  been  serene  and  cheerful  all  the  afternoon, 
should  he  be  so  suddenly  overcome  by  the  thought  of  an 
absent  woman  that  he  could  not  or  would  not  speak  to  or 
look  at  a  friend  to  whom  he  was  certainly  much  attached  ? 

The  train  rumbled  into  the  station.  "Here  it  is!"  said 
Winnie,  and  rose  to  her  feet. 

Dick  Dennehy  started  and  jumped  up.  For  a  second 
his  eyes  met  hers. 

"Come  along  and  put  me  into  a  carriage,"  she  added, 
hastily,  and  made  her  way  at  a  quick  pace  to  the  train. 
"Where  are  the  thirds  ?" 

They  found  the  thirds,  and  she  got  in.  He  shut  the  door, 
and  stood  by  it,  waiting  for  the  train  to  start. 

"You've  got  a  wrong  idea.  I  tell  ye  it's  not  serious, 
Winnie." 

He  made  his  protest  again,  in  a  hard,  desperate  voice. 
Then,  with  an  effort,  he  took  a  more  ordinary  tone. 

"  I'm  full  of  business  over  this  new  idea — and  with  wind- 
ing up  the  old  connection,  if  I  do  it.  I  mayn't  be  seeing 
you  for  a  few  weeks.  You  will  take  care  of  yourself  ?" 

"Surely  if  anybody's  had  a  warning,  I  have!  Good-bye, 
Dick." 

She  put  her  hand  out  through  the  window.  He  took  it 
and  pressed  it,  but  he  never  lifted  his  eyes  to  hers.  A  lurch 
back,  a  plunge  forward,  and  the  train  was  started.  "Good- 
bye, Dick!"  she  cried  again.  "Cheer  up!" 

Leaning  out  of  the  window,  she  saw  him  standing  with 
his  hands  in  his  pockets,  looking  after  her.  He  called  out 
something,  which  she  heard  imperfectly,  but  it  embraced 

213 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

the  word  "fool,"  and  also  the  word  "serious."  She  could 
supply  a  connection  for  the  latter,  but  travelled  to  town  in 
doubt  as  to  the  application  of  the  former.  Was  it  to  her  or 
to  himself  that  Dick  Dennehy  had  applied  the  epithet? 
"Because  it  makes  a  little  difference, "  thought  Winnie, 
snuggling  down  into  the  big  collar  of  her  sealskin  coat — 
quite  out  of  place,  by-the-way,  in  a  third-class  carriage. 


XIX 

A   POINT  OF   HONOR 

MRS.  LENOIR'S  boast  was  not  without  warrant;  in 
the  course  of  her  life  she  had  held  her  own  against 
men  in  more  than  one  hard  fight.  She  admired  another 
woman  who  could  do  the  same.  In  her  refugee  from  the 
West  Kensington  studio  she  rejoiced  to  find  not  a  sentimental 
penitent  nor  an  emotional  wreck,  but  a  woman  scarred  in- 
deed with  wounds,  but  still  full  of  fight,  acknowledging  a 
blunder,  but  not  crushed  by  it,  both  resolved  and  clearly 
able  to  make  a  life  for  herself  still  and  to  enjoy  it.  She 
hailed  in  Winnie,  too,  the  quality  which  her  own  career  had 
taught  her  both  to  recognize  and  to  value — that  peculiarly 
feminine  attractiveness  which  was  the  best  weapon  in  her 
sex's  battles;  Winnie  fought  man  with  her  native  weapons, 
not  with  an  equipment  borrowed  from  the  male  armory  and 
clumsily  or  feebly  handled.  Under  the  influence  of  this 
sex-sympathy,  pity  had  passed  into  admiration,  and  admira- 
tion into  affection,  during  the  weeks  which  had  elapsed  since 
she  brought  Winnie  to  her  roof. 

Her  ethical  code  was  pagan,  as  perhaps  is  already  evident. 
When  she  hated,  she  hurt  if  she  could;  when  she  loved,  she 
helped — she  would  not  have  quarrelled  with  the  remark 
that  she  deserved  no  credit  for  it.  She  was  by  now  intent 
on  helping  Winnie,  on  giving  her  a  fresh  start,  on  obliterating 

215 


MRS.  MAXON    PROTESTS 

the  traces  of  defeat,  and  of  co-operating  in  fresh  manoeuvres 
which  should  result  in  victory.  But  to  this  end  some 
strategy  was  needful.  Not  only  other  people,  but  Winnie 
herself,  had  to  be  managed,  and  there  was  need  of  tact  in 
tiding  over  an  awkward  period  of  transition.  As  a  sub- 
sidiary move  toward  the  latter  object,  Mrs.  Lenoir  pro- 
jected a  sojourn  abroad;  in  regard  to  the  former  she  had 
to  be  on  her  guard  against  two  sets  of  theories — the  world's 
theories  about  Winnie,  which  might  perhaps  find  disciples 
in  her  own  particular  friends  (the  General  and  his  son, 
Major  Merriam),  and  Winnie's  theories  about  the  world, 
which  had  before  now  led  their  adherent  into  a  rashness 
that  invited,  and  in  the  end  had  entailed,  disaster. 

She  had  pleasant  memories  of  Madeira,  which  she  had 
visited  many  years  ago  under  romantic  circumstances.  She 
outlined  a  tour  which  should  begin  with  that  island,  include 
a  sea  trip  thence  to  Genoa,  and  end  up  with  a  stay  at  the 
Italian  lakes.  On  the  day  that  Winnie  spent  at  Shaylor's 
Patch  she  sketched  out  this  plan  to  her  friend,  the  General. 

"Upon  my  word,  it  sounds  uncommonly  pleasant.  I 
should  like  to  go  with  you,  but  I  don't  want  to  leave 
Bertie  for  so  long,  now  he's  at  home  for  once." 

"No,  of  course  you  don't."  For  reasons  of  her  own,  she 
preferred  that  any  suggestion  should  come  from  him. 

The  General  pondered,  then  smiled  rather  roguishly. 
"What  would  you  say,  Clara,  if  two  handsome  young  officers 
turned  up  at  Madeira,  for  a  few  days  anyhow  ?  Just  to 
bask  in  the  sun,  you  know  ?" 

"I  should  say  that  two  handsome  young  women  wouldn't 
be  much  annoyed." 

"By  Jove,  I'll  suggest  it  to  Bertie!"  All  right — so  long 
as  it  was  the  General  who  suggested  it! 

216 


A    POINT    OF    HONOR 

Mrs.  Lenoir  smiled  at  him.  "Of  course,  it  would  be  very 
pleasant."  A  slight  emphasis  on  the  last  word  suggested 
that,  if  there  were  any  reasons  to  weigh  against  the  obvious 
pleasantness,  they  were  matters  for  her  friend's  considera- 
tion, not  for  hers.  If  he  chose  to  go  out  of  his  way  to  expose 
his  eldest  son  to  the  fascination  of  a  young  woman  about 
whom  he  knew  nothing  at  all,  it  was  his  own  lookout.  By 
now  there  was  no  doubt  that  Bertie  Merriam  was  quite 
conscious  of  the  fascination,  though  by  no  means  yet 
dominated  by  it. 

"We  should  make  a  very  harmonious  quartette,"  the 
General  declared.  "I  shall  certainly  suggest  it  to  Bertie." 

"Oh,  well,  you  must  see  how  it  strikes  him.  Remember, 
he  may  prefer  the  gayeties  of  London.  Don't  press  him  on 
our  account!"  She  would  not  in  any  way  invite;  she  pre- 
served the  attitude  of  a  kindly,  but  not  an  eager,  acquiescence 
in  any  decision  at  which  Bertie  might  arrive.  But  she 
was  strongly  of  opinion  that  the  handsome  officers  would 
turn  up — on  the  island,  and  not  improbably  even  at  South- 
ampton docks. 

All  this,  then,  was  in  Mrs.  Lenoir 's  mind  when  Winnie 
came  back  from  Shaylor's  Patch,  her  thoughts  still  occupied 
with  two  questions.  One  related  to  Dick  Dennehy;  it  was 
a  private  matter  and  did  not  concern  her  hostess.  But  the 
problem  of  conduct  which  she  had  submitted  to  the  Aiken- 
heads  did.  On  that  she  was  bound  in  loyalty  to  consult 
Mrs.  Lenoir.  That  lady  had  indeed  given  an  opinion  once, 
but  circumstances  alter  cases.  As  she  ate  her  dinner,  she 
described  humorously  the  difference  of  opinion  between  hus- 
band and  wife,  putting  the  case  in  the  abstract,  of  course, 
without  explicit  reference  to  the  Major,  and  taking  the 
liberty  of  implying  that  it  was  Stephen  who  had  initiated 

217 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

the  debate.  These  concessions  to  modesty  and  discretion 
scarcely  deceived  Mrs.  Lenoir,  though  she  accepted  them 
decorously.  Both  women  knew  that  it  was  Bertie  Merriam 
who  might  make  a  settlement  of  the  point  necessary  before 
many  days,  or,  at  all  events,  many  weeks,  were  out. 

Worldly-wise  Mrs.  Lenoir  took  up  a  middle  position. 
She  was  not  prepared  for  Tora's  uncompromising  doctrine; 
yet  she  agreed  with  the  view  that  there  was  much  to  be  said 
for  telling  people  what  they  might  probably  find  out — and 
find  out  too  late  in  their  own  opinion.  All  the  same,  she 
dissented  from  Stephen's  extreme  application  of  the  rule  of 
candor. 

"You  wouldn't  accept  a  man  without  telling  him,  but 
you  needn't  blurt  it  out  to  anybody  who  makes  you  a  few 
pretty  speeches." 

"Wouldn't  it  be  fair  to  tell  him  before  he  got  much  in 
love  ?" 

"If  he  wasn't  much  in  love,  he'd  be  rather  inclined  to 
smile  over  your  telling  him,  wouldn't  he  ?" 

The  suggestion  went  home  to  Winnie.  "  I  shouldn't  want 
to  risk  that." 

"Unless  circumstances  make  it  absolutely  necessary,  I 
should  let  things  stay  as  they  are  till  your  case  is  over,  at  all 
events.  It  '11  be  so  much  pleasanter  for  you  to  be  incog, 
till  then." 

There  was  something  in  that  suggestion,  too.  Not  great 
on  theory,  Mrs.  Lenoir  took  good,  practical  points. 

"It's  rather  giving  up  my  point  of  view,"  Winnie  ob- 
jected. 

Mrs.  Lenoir  smiled  in  a  slightly  contemptuous  kindness. 
"Oh,  my  poor  child,  take  a  holiday  from  your  point  of  view, 
as  well  as  from  all  the  rest  of  it.  And  really  it's  quixotic  of 

218 


A    POINT    OF    HONOR 

you  to  be  so  much  afraid  of  giving  some  man  or  other  a 
little  shock,  after  all  they've  made  you  suffer." 

Winnie  felt  the  appeal  to  the  cause  of  the  sex  also.  In 
short,  all  Mrs.  Lenoir's  points  told;  they  seemed  full  of 
workaday  wisdom  and  reasonable  common-sense. 

"Just  don't  think  about  it  again  till  after  the  case. 
Promise  me." 

"That  is  best,  I  think,  in  the  end.  Yes,  I  promise,  Mrs. 
Lenoir." 

Mrs.  Lenoir  said  nothing  about  the  possibility  of  the  two 
officers  "turning  up"  at  Madeira — or  at  Southampton 
docks.  Diplomacy  forbade;  the  connection  would  have 
been  too  rudely  obvious;  it  might  have  led  Winnie  to  re- 
consider her  pledge.  In  fact,  things  were  so  managed — 
mainly  by  a  policy  of  masterly  inactivity,  tempered  by  just 
one  hint  to  the  General — that  the  first  Winnie  heard  of  this 
idea  came  neither  from  Mrs.  Lenoir  nor  from  the  General, 
but  from  Bertie  Merriam  himself.  Emanating  from  that 
quarter,  the  suggestion  could  not  be  brusquely  repelled;  it 
was  bound  to  meet  with  courteous  consideration.  Indeed, 
to  refuse  to  accept  it  would  be  extremely  difficult.  To  Mrs. 
Lenoir,  Winnie  might  have  avowed  the  only  possible  objec- 
tion; she  could  not  so  much  as  hint  at  it  to  the  Major. 
Mrs.  Lenoir  knew  her  way  about,  as  the  colloquial  phrase 
has  it. 

Winnie's  relations  with  Bertie  Merriam  had  now  reached 
the  stage  which  a  mature  and  retrospective  judgment, 
though  not,  of  course,  the  heat  of  youth,  may  perhaps  de- 
clare to  be  the  pleasantest  that  can  exist  between  man  and 
woman — a  congenial  friendship  colored  into  a  warmer  tint 
by  admiration  on  the  one  side  and  a  flattered  recognition  of 
it  on  the  other.  Winnie'  recent  experience  raised  recogni- 
15  219  • 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

tion  to  the  height  of  gratification,  almost  to  that  of  gratitude. 
Not  only  her  theory  had  suffered  at  Godfrey  Ledstone's 
hands;  deny  it  though  she  might,  her  vanity  also  had  been 
wounded.  She  welcomed  balms,  and  smiled  kindly  on  any 
who  would  administer  them.  After  an  unfortunate  ex- 
perience in  love,  people  are  said  often  to  welcome  attentions 
from  a  new-comer  "out  of  pique";  it  is  likely  that  the  mo- 
tive is  less  often  vexation  with  the  offender  than  gratitude  to 
the  successor,  who  restores  pride  and  gives  back  to  life  its 
potentiality  of  pleasure.  This  was  Winnie's  mood.  She 
was  willing  to  take  Mrs.  Lenoir's  advice  not  merely  on  the 
specific  point  on  which  it  was  offered.  She  was  willing  to 
accept  it  all  round — willing,  so  far  as  she  could,  to  forget 
her  theories  and  her  point  of  view,  as  well  as  what  they  had 
entailed  upon  her.  She  wanted  to  enjoy  the  pleasant 
things  of  life  for  awhile;  one  could  not  be  playing  apostle 
or  martyr  all  the  time!  She  was  ready  to  see  what  this  new 
episode,  this  journey  and  this  holiday,  had  to  offer;  she  was 
not  unwilling  to  see  how  much  she  might  be  inclined  to  like 
Major  Merriam.  Yet  all  this  is  to  analyze  her  far  more  than 
she  analyzed  herself.  In  her  it  was,  in  reality,  the  youth- 
ful blood  moving  again,  the  rebound  from  sorrow,  the  re- 
assertion  of  the  right  of  her  charms  and  its  unimpeded 
exercise.  Such  a  mood  is  not  one  where  the  finer  shades 
of  scruple  are  likely  to  prevail;  it  is  too  purely  a  natural  and 
primitive  movement  of  mind  and  body.  Besides,  Winnie 
could  always,  as  Mrs.  Lenoir  reminded  her,  soothe  a  qualm 
of  conscience  by  a  staggering  tu  quoque  launched  against  the 
male  sex  in  general. 

Again,  in  an  unconscious  and  blindly  instinctive  way, 
she  was  a  student  of  human  nature,  and  rather  a  headstrong 
one.  She  did  not  readily  rest  in  ignorance  about  people, 

220 


A    POINT    OF    HONOR 

or  even  find  repose  in  doubt.  She  liked  to  search,  test, 
classify,  and  be  guided  by  the  result.  Her  history  showed 
it.  She  had  tested  Cyril  Maxon,  classified  him,  and  acted 
on  her  conclusion.  She  had  experimented  on  Godfrey 
Ledstone,  classified  him,  found  that  she  had  miscalculated, 
paid  the  expense  of  an  unsuccessful  experiment,  and  ac- 
cepted the  issue  of  it.  Here,  now,  was  new  material — men 
of  a  kind  to  whom  her  experience  had  not  previously  intro- 
duced her  in  any  considerable  degree  of  intimacy.  She 
might  often  have  dined  in  the  company  of  such;  but  under 
Maxon's  roof  real  knowledge  of  other  men  was  not  easily 
come  by. 

Men  of  views  and  visions,  men  of  affairs  and  ambitions, 
men  of  ease  and  pleasure — among  these  her  lot  had  been 
cast  since  she  left  her  father's  house.  The  Merriams  were 
pre-eminently  men  of  duty.  They  had  their  opinions,  and 
both  took  their  recreations  with  a  healthy  zest;  but  the 
Service  was  as  the  breath  of  their  nostrils.  The  General 
was  the  cleverer  soldier  of  the  two,  as  the  Kala  Kin  Ex- 
pedition bore  witness.  The  son  was  not  likely  ever  to  com- 
mand more  than  a  regiment  or,  at  most,  a  brigade;  higher 
distinctions  must  be  left  to  the  second  brother.  Bertie's 
enthusiasm  corresponded  nicely  with  his  gifts.  He  adored 
the  regiment,  and  in  due  course  a  few  months  would  see  him 
Lieutenant-Colonel;  if  only  the  regiment  could  see  service 
under  his  command,  how  joyously  would  he  sing  his  Nunc 
dimittis,  with  duty  done  and  his  name  on  an  honorable 
roll! 

Winnie  sat  regarding  his  pleasant  tanned  face,  his  sincere, 
pale-blue  eyes,  and  his  very  well-made  clothes  with  a  calm 
satisfaction.  She  had  been  hearing  a  good  deal  about  the 
regiment,  but  the  gossip  amused  her. 

221 


MRS.   MAXON     PROTESTS 

"And  where  do  the  officers'  wives — I  suppose  some  of 
you  have  wives  ? — come  in  ?"  she  asked. 

"Oh,  they're  awfully  important,  Miss  Wilson.  The  social 
tone  depends  so  much  on  them.  You  see,  with  a  parcel  of 
young  chaps — the  subalterns,  you  know — well,  you  do  see, 
don't  you  ?" 

"Well,  I  think  I  can  see  that,  Major  Merriam.  They 
mustn't  flirt  with  the  subalterns  ?  At  any  rate,  not  too 
much  ?" 

"That's  rotten.  But  they  ought  to  teach  them  their 
manners." 

"Ought  to  be  motherly?  You  don't  look  as  if  that 
sounded  quite  right!  Elder-sisterly?" 

"That's  more  like  it,  Miss  Wilson." 

He  said  "Miss  Wilson"  rather  often,  or  so  it  struck 
Winnie — just  as  Bob  Purnett  used  to  say  "Mrs.  Ledstone" 
much  too  often.  He  gave  her  another  little  jar  the  next 
moment.  He  left  the  subject  of  officers'  wives,  and  leaned 
forward  to  her  with  an  ingratiating  yet  rather  apologetic 
smile. 

"I  say,  do  you  know  what  the  General  has  had  the  cheek 
to  suggest  to  your  cousin  ?" 

Winnie  had  forgotten  her  cue.  "My  cousin?"  she  ex- 
claimed in  surprise. 

"Why,  Mrs.  Lenoir!     She  is  your  cousin,  isn't  she?" 

The  lie  direct  Winnie  disliked.  Yet  could  she  betray  her 
benefactress?  "It's  so  awfully  distant  that  I  forget  the 
cousin  in  the  friend,"  she  said,  with  an  uneasy  little  laugh. 
"But  what  has  the  General  had  the  cheek — your  phrase, 
not  mine — to  suggest  to  Mrs.  Lenoir  ?"  She  seemed  to 
have  forgotten  the  cousin  again,  for  she  said  "Mrs.  Lenoir," 
not  "Cousin  Clara."  As,  however,  the  Major  had  never 

222. 


A    POINT    OF    HONOR 

heard  her  say  anything  else,  the  point  did  not  attract  his 
notice. 

"Why,  that  we  four  might  make  a  party  of  it  as  far  as 
Madeira.  Nice  little  place,  though  I  suppose  it  won't  be 
as  lively  now  as  it  was  when  the  war  was  going  on." 

"It  sounds  delightful." 

"I've  got  a  paper  to  read  to  the  Naval  and  Military 
Institute  in  six  weeks'  time.  I  could  just  fit  it  in — and 
write  the  thing  out  there,  you  know." 

"We'd  all  help  you,"  said  Winnie. 

The  Major  detected  raillery.  "I  should  have  a  go  at  it 
before  you  were  up  in  the  morning." 

"  Oh,  well,  then  I  must  be  content  with  the  humble  func- 
tion of  helping  to  relax  your  mind  afterward." 

"  But  you  wouldn't  mind  our  coming  ?" 

"You  don't  appreciate  how  fond  I  am  of  the  Gen- 
eral." 

"Well,  he  half  worships  you,  Miss  Wilson.  And  you'll 
put  up  with  my  company  for  his  sake  ?" 

"He's  too  distinguished  a  man  to  carry  the  rugs  and 
cushions." 

"You  can  fag  me  as  much  as  you  like  on  board.  The 
difficulty  is  to  get  enough  moving  about." 

"On  that  distinct  understanding,  I  won't  veto  the  party, 
Major  Merriam."  She  laughed.  "But,  of  course,  I've 
really  got  nothing  to  say  to  it.  It's  for  Mrs.  Lenoir  to  decide, 
isn't  it?" 

Bertie  Merriam  felt  that  he  had  obtained  permission,  but 
hardly  encouragement — just  as  the  General  was  convinced 
that  he  had  made  a  suggestion  and  not  received  one.  But 
permission  was  enough. 

"I  shall  tell  the  General  I've  squared  you,"  he  said,  beam- 

223 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

ing.  "There  are  jolly  excursions  to  be  made,  you  know. 
You  can  either  ride,  or  be  carried  in  a  hammock — " 

"  I  wonder  if  Mrs.  Lenoir  will  care  for  the  excursions  ?" 

"Well,  if  the  seniors  want  to  take  it  easy,  we  could  do 
them  together,  couldn't  we,  Miss  Wilson  ?" 

"To  be  sure  we  could,"  smiled  Winnie.  "More  rugs  and 
cushions  for  you!  Won't  it  be  what  you  call  fatigue  duty  ?" 

"I'll  take  it  on,"  he  declared.  "I  don't  shirk  work  in  a 
good  cause,  you  know." 

One  thing  about  him  surprised  Winnie,  while  it  also 
pleased  her.  Obviously  he  considered  her  witty.  She  had 
never  been  accustomed  to  take  that  view  of  herself.  Cyril 
Maxon  would  have  been  amazed  at  it.  Though  Stephen 
Aikenhead  now  and  then  gave  her  credit  for  a  hit,  her  general 
attitude  toward  him  was  that  of  an  inquirer  or  a  disciple,  and 
disciples  may  not  becomingly  bandy  witticisms  with  their 
masters.  Because  Bertie  Merriam  visibly  enjoyed — with- 
out attempting  to  equal — her  fencing,  she  began  to  enjoy  it 
herself.  Nay,  more,  she  began  to  rely  on  it.  No  less  than 
her  staggering  tu  quoque  to  the  male  sex,  it  might  serve,  at 
a  pinch,  to  quiet  a  qualm  of  conscience.  "I  can  always 
keep  him  at  his  distance."  That  notion  in  her  mind  helped 
to  minimize  any  scruples  to  which  his  admiration,  the  ex- 
pedition, the  excursions,  the  rugs  and  the  cushions  might 
give  rise.  For  if  fencing  can  accord  permission,  it  can 
surely  also  refuse  it  ?  If  the  Merriams  were  anything  in 
this  world,  they  were  gentlemen.  In  matters  of  the  heart 
a  gentleman  need  not  be  very  clever  to  take  a  hint;  he 
feels  it. 

But  the  most  dexterous  soother  of  qualms  and  scruples 
was  Mrs.  Lenoir.  Her  matter-of-fact  treatment  of  the  joint 
excursion  shamed  Winnie  out  of  making  too  much  of  it. 

224 


A    POINT    OF    HONOR 

What  reason  was  there  to  suppose  that  Bertie  would  fall  in 
love  ?  A  pleasant  passing  flirtation  perhaps — and  why  not  ? 
Moreover — here  the  subject  was  treated  in  a  more  general 
way,  though  the  special  application  was  not  obscure — sup- 
pose he  did!  What  did  it  matter  ?  Men  were  always  falling 
in  love,  and  falling  out  of  it  again.  A  slight  shrug  of  still 
shapely  shoulders  reduced  these  occurrences  to  their  true 
proportions.  Finally  she  took  occasion  to  hint  that  Bertie 
Merriam  was  not  what  he  himself  would  call  "pious."  He 
accepted  the  religion  of  his  caste  and  country  as  he  found  it; 
he  conformed  to  its  observances  and  had  an  honest,  un- 
inquiring  belief  in  its  dogmas.  It  was  to  him  a  natural  side 
of  life  and  an  integral  part  of  regimental  discipline— much, 
in  fact,  as  church-going  was  to  Alice  Aikenhead  at  school. 
But  there  was  no  reason  to  suppose  that  he  would  carry  it 
to  extremes,  or  consider  that  it  could  ask  more  of  him  than 
the  law  asked.  So  far  as  the  law  went,  all  objections  would 
vanish  in  a  few  months.  Strong  in  her  influence  over  the 
General,  Mrs.  Lenoir  foresaw,  in  the  event  of  the  falling  in 
love  coming  to  pass,  a  brief  trouble  and  a  happy  ending. 
The  second  was  well  worth  the  first.  In  fact,  she  was  by 
now  set  on  her  project — on  the  fresh  start  and  the  good 
match  for  Winnie.  She  was  ready  to  forward  it  in  every 
way  she  could,  by  diplomacy,  by  hard  fighting  if  need  be,  by 
cajolery,  and,  finally,  by  such  an  endowment  for  Winnie  as 
would  remove  all  hindrances  of  a  financial  order.  Though 
most  of  her  money  was  sunk  in  an  annuity,  she  could  well 
afford  to  make  Winnie's  income  up  to  four  hundred  a  year 
— not  a  despicable  dower  for  the  wife  of  a  regimental  officer. 
With  three  sons  in  the  army,  the  General  was  not  able  to 
make  very  handsome  allowances;  the  four  hundred  would 
be  welcome  with  a  bride. 

225 


MRS.  MAXON     PROTESTS 

She  would  have  been  interested  to  overhear  a  conversa- 
tion which  took  place  between  the  General  and  his  son 
while  they  were  dining  together  at  Bertie's  club  two  days 
before  the  expedition  was  to  set  out.  The  General  filled 
his  glass  of  port  and  opened  the  subject. 

"Bertie,  my  boy,  you  ought  to  get  married,"  he  said. 
"AC.  O.,  as  you  will  be  soon,  ought  to  have  a  wife.  It's 
good  for  the  regiment,  in  my  opinion — though  some  men 
think  otherwise,  as  I'm  aware — and  it  makes  it  much  less 
likely  that  a  man  will  get  into  any  scrape  on  his  own  account 
— a  thing  a  bachelor's  always  liable  to  do,  and  in  these  days 
a  much  more  serious  matter  than  it  used  to  be." 

The  General,  at  least,  did  not  sound  unpracticably 
"pious."  Mrs.  Lenoir  might  take  comfort. 

Bertie  Merriam  blushed  a  little  through  his  tan.  "Well, 
to  tell  the  truth,  I  have  been  just  sort  of  thinking  about  it — 
in  a  kind  of  way,  you  know." 

"Anybody  special  in  your  eye  ?"  asked  the  General. 

"It's  rather  early  days  to  give  it  away,"  Bertie  pleaded. 

"Yes,  yes.  I  quite  see,  my  boy.  I  beg  your  pardon. 
But  I'm  very  glad  to  hear  what  you  say.  I  know  you'll 
choose  a  good  girl — and  a  pretty  one,  too,  I'll  lay  odds!  I 
won't  ask  any  more.  A  little  bit  of  money  wouldn't  hurt, 
of  course.  Take  your  own  time,  Bertie,  and  I'll  wait." 
Thus  the  General  ostensibly  passed  from  the  subject.  But 
after  finishing  his  glass  and  allowing  it  to  be  refilled,  he  re- 
marked: "I'm  looking  forward  to  our  jaunt,  Bertie.  It  was 
a  happy  idea  of  mine,  wasn't  it  ?  I  shall  enjoy  talking  to 
Clara — I  always  do — and  you'll  be  happy  with  little  Miss 
Wilson.  I  like  her — I  like  her  very  much.  Of  course, 
twenty  years  ago  it  wouldn't  have  been  wise  for  Clara  to 
chaperon  her,  but  at  this  time  of  day  it's  all  forgotten.  Only 

226 


A    POINT    OF    HONOR 

old  fogies  like  me  remember  anything  about  it.     It  oughtn't 
to  prejudice  the  girl  in  any  sensible  man's  eyes." 

He  exchanged  a  glance  with  his  son.  Nothing  explicit 
was  said.  But  a  question  had  been  answered  which  Bertie 
had  desired  to  put.  It  was  now  quite  clear  to  him  that,  if 
he  were  desirous  of  courting  Miss  Winnie  Wilson,  he  need 
expect  no  opposition  from  the  General. 

"I'm  quite  with  you  there,  father.  It  would  be  very  un- 
fair to  Miss  Wilson." 

With  what  mind  would  Mrs.  Lenoir — and  Miss  Wilson 
— have  overheard  the  conversation  ?  Might  they  have 
recognized  that  they  were  not  giving  quite  such  fair  treat- 
ment as  was  being  accorded  to  them  ?  Or  would  Winnie's 
theories  and  her  ability  to  launch  a  staggering  tu  quoque,  and 
Mrs.  Lenoir's  practical  points  of  difficulty,  still  have  carried 
the  day  ?  It  is  probable  that  they  would.  Taken  all  together, 
they  were  very  powerful,  and  Stephen  Aikenhead's  atavistic 
"public-school"  idea  of  honor  could  hardly  have  prevailed. 

Father  and  son  walked  home,  arm  in  arm.  The  talk  of 
his  son's  marriage,  the  prospect  of  his  son's  commanding 
his  regiment,  moved  the  old  soldier  to  unwonted  feeling. 

"I  shall  be  a  proud  man  when  I  can  boast  of  two  Colonels 
— and  if  that  scamp  George  '11  stick  to  work,  he  ought  to 
give  me  a  third  before  many  years  are  over.  There's  no 
finer  billet  in  the  world  than  the  command  of  a  regirnent — 
no  position  in  which  you  can  do  more  good,  in  my  opinion, 
or  serve  the  king  to  better  purpose.  And  a  good  wife  can 
help  you,  as  I  said — help  you  a  lot." 

He  pressed  his  son's  arm  and  added,  "Only  you  mustn't 
let  her  interfere  with  your  work.  The  regiment  must  still 
come  first  in  everything,  Bertie — ay,  even  before  your  wife! 
That's  the  rule  of  the  Service." 

227 


XX 

AN    HEROIC    OFFER 

BOB  PURNETT  spent  nearly  two  months  in  Ireland; 
it  was  much  longer  than  he  had  intended,  but  he  liked 
the  hunting  there,  and,  when  that  was  over,  found  excellent 
quarters  and  amusing  society  at  the  house  of  a  squire  whom 
his  prowess  in  the  field  had  won  to  friendship  and  who 
maintained  the  national  tradition  in  the  matter  of  good 
claret.  Bob  had  no  cause  for  hurry;  his  year's  work  was 
done.  A  holiday  on  the  Riviera  was  the  next  item  in  his 
annual  programme. 

He  arrived  in  London  two  days  before  the  expedition  to 
Madeira  was  to  start.  Of  it  he  knew  nothing.  He  had 
written  a  couple  of  friendly,  breezy  letters  to  Winnie  (under 
the  idea  that  she  might  be  downhearted),  and  the  answer 
to  the  first — she  had  not  answered  the  second — told  him 
where  she  was  and  conveyed  the  impression  that  she  still 
found  life  bearable.  Where  she  was  possessed  a  certain 
significance  in  his  eyes;  he  nodded  his  head  over  it.  It 
was  a  factor — precisely  how  important  he  could  not  say — 
in  answering  the  question  he  had  been,  not  with  oppressive 
frequency,  yet  from  time  to  time,  asking  himself  in  the  in- 
tervals of  hunting  and  of  drinking  his  host's  good  claret. 
"Why  shouldn't  she  ?"  was  the  form  the  question  assumed 
in  his  thoughts.  If  she  had  with  Godfrey  Ledstone — not 

228 


AN    HEROIC    OFFER 

much  of  a  chap,  after  all! — why  shouldn't  she  with  some- 
body else  ?  True,  Winnie  had  always  puzzled  him.  But 
there  was  the  line  of  division — a  fixed  line  surely,  if  anything 
was  fixed  ?  She  had  crossed  it  once.  He  could  not  see  why, 
with  the  proper  courtesies  observed,  she  should  not  make 
another  transit.  Yet,  because  she  had  always  puzzled  him, 
he  was,  as  he  told  himself,  stupidly  nervous  about  making 
the  proposition.  People  who  do  things,  and  yet  do  not 
seem  to  be  the  sort  of  people  who  generally  do  them,  occa- 
sion these  doubts  and  hesitations,  confusing  psychology 
and  perplexing  experience.  Yet,  finally,  he  was  minded  to 
"chance  it" — and,  let  it  be  said,  not  without  such  a  sense 
of  responsibility  as  it  lay  in  his  nature  to  feel.  She  had 
crossed  the  line,  but  he  knew  that  she  did  not  regard  herself 
as  a  denizen  of  the  other  side.  He  was  ready  to  concede 
that,  to  allow  for  it,  to  be  very  much  on  his  good  behavior. 
Above  all,  no  hint  of  the  mercantile!  He  had  the  perception 
to  see  not  only  how  fatal,  but  how  rude  and  unjustifiable 
such  a  thing  would  be.  He  was  (in  a  sentence)  prepared  to 
combine  a  charming  companionship  with  an  elevating  in- 
fluence. Permanently?  Ah,  well!  If  bygones  are  to  be 
bygones,  futurities  may,  by  a  parity  of  treatment,  be  left  to 
the  future. 

He  called  at  the  flat  in  Knightsbridge  on  Friday  afternoon. 
In  the  drawing-room  neighborhood  no  signs  of  the  im- 
pending expedition  were  visible;  invaluable  Emily  restricted 
the  ravages  of  packing  to  the  bedrooms  and  their  immediate 
vicinity.  Mrs.  Lenoir  and  Winnie  were  together,  drinking 
tea.  Winnie  received  him  with  glad  cordiality;  in  the 
hostess  he  felt  vaguely  a  hint  of  reserve.  Mrs.  Lenoir,  full 
of  her  new  project,  did  not  see  why  Bob  Purnett  should 
come.  She  had  nothing  against  him,  but  he  was  irrelevant; 

229 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

if  her  scheme  succeeded,  he  would  naturally  drop  out.  She 
was  distantly  gracious — the  "grand  manner"  made  its  ap- 
pearance— and,  after  giving  him  a  cup  of  tea,  went  back  to 
her  packing,  concerning  which  neither  she  nor  Winnie  had 
said  a  word — Winnie  waiting  for  a  lead  from  her  friend,  and 
her  friend  not  being  minded  to  give  it. 

Winnie  had  not  thought  of  Bob  for  weeks,  but  her  heart 
warmed  to  him.  "He  saved  my  life  that  first  night,"  was 
her  inward  utterance  of  gratitude.  She  lounged  back  on  the 
sofa  and  let  him  talk.  But  he  did  not  talk  idly  for  long; 
Bob  Purnett  took  his  fences;  after  all,  he  had  made  a 
thorough  inspection  of  this  particular  "teaser"  before  he 
mounted  his  horse. 

"I've  been  thinking  a  lot  about  you  since  I've  been 
away." 

"Flattered,  Mr.  Purnett." 

"Oh,  rot.  I  mean,  hoping  you  weren't  unhappy,  and  so 
on,  you  know." 

Winnie  moved  her  small  hands  in  a  gesture  expressive  of 
a  reasoned  endurance. 

"But,  I  say,  pretty  quiet  here,  isn't  it?" 

"Oh  yes,  but  I  don't  mind  that." 

"Don't  want  to  sit  down  here  all  your  life,  do  you  ?" 

"That  is  rather  a  large  order,  isn't  it?  Have  you  any- 
thing else  to  suggest  ?" 

"You've  begun  to  laugh  at  a  fellow  already!" 

"Already  ?  Good  gracious,  is  there  anything  tremendous 
coming  ?" 

Bob  got  up  from  his  chair,  moved  across  the  hearth-rug, 
and  stood  by  her.  He  cleared  his  throat  and  lit  a  cigarette. 
Winnie  began  to  be  curious;  she  smiled  up  at  him.  "I  be- 
lieve you've  got  something  on  your  mind.  Out  with  it." 

230 


AN    HEROIC    OFFER 

A  sudden  idea  flashed  into  her  head.  "You've  not  come 
from  Godfrey  ?  Because  that's  utterly  impossible." 

"What  do  you  take  me  for?  I  haven't  seen  the  fellow. 
I  say,  what  made  you  think  that  ?" 

"Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon — I'm  sorry.  But  you  asked 
whether  I  wanted  to  stay  here;  that  was  like  suggesting  I 
should  go  somewhere  else,  wasn't  it  ?  So  I  thought  you 
might  mean  that  I  should  go — go  back,  you  know.  I'd 
sooner  kill  myself." 

"Oh,  please  drop  it.  I  wasn't  talking  about  that.  I'm 
off  to  Monte  Carlo  on  Tuesday."  He  looked  down  at  his 
well-polished,  broad-welted  brown  boots;  he  was  always 
admirably  shod.  Yet  he  seemed  to  find  no  inspiration,  or 
not  a  very  happy  one.  "Got  over  it,  haven't  you  ?" 

Winnie  shrank  into  her  shell.  "I  think  I  prefer  your 
dumb  sympathy.  How  can  you  expect  me  to  talk  about 
it?" 

"  Put  my  foot  in  it  ?" 

"Well,  yes,  rather."  Her  right  hand  beat  a  tattoo  on  the 
arm  of  her  chair. 

"Always  do,"  remarked  Bob,  reflectively,  his  eyes  still  on 
his  boots.  He  was  not  surprised  that  she  thought  his  ques- 
tion badly  phrased — necessary  preliminary  as  it  was  in  sub- 
stance. 

"Oh,  nonsense!  You're  a  dear.  But  have  you  really 
anything  you're  trying  to  say  ?" 

He  must  jump  now — or  he  must  refuse.  He  saw  it,  and 
courage  came  with  the  need  for  it. 

"I  say,  could  you  think  of  going  with  me  to  Monte  ?" 
He  raised  his  eyes  and  looked  her  full  in  the  face  as  he  put 
the  question.  He  had  courage — but  the  puzzle  was  terribly 
persistent.  "Will  she  go,  or  will  she  kick  me  out?"  is 

231 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

a  brief  summary  of  his  inward  questioning;  he  thought  it 
about  equal  betting. 

"Go  with  you?" 

"Yes.  Have  a  bit  of  fun,  you  know.  We'd  have  a  rare 
time."  He  was  down  at  his  boots  again.  "And  everything 
just  as  you  like,  honor  bright,  Winnie,  till — till  you  saw  what 
you  wanted,  don't  you  know  ?" 

Winnie  sat  quite  still  for  a  few  moments.  She  looked  at 
Bob  Purnett  with  an  inquiring  glance.  He  was  a  very 
good  fellow.  That  she  knew.  Was  he  quite  sane  ?  He 
was  certainly  funny — so  funny  that  indignation  refused  to 
adorn  the  situation.  Slowly  a  smile  bent  the  lines  of  her 
mouth.  Here  was  a  pretty  contrast  to  Dick  Dennehy's 
heartfelt  appeal  to  her  to  "take  care  of  herself,"  and  not 
less  to  Bertie  Merriam's  respectfully  cautious  attentions. 
Ay,  and  to  Mrs.  Lenoir's  schemes!  She  was  aware  that 
Bob  had  never  grasped  the  true  significance  of  her  action  in 
regard  to  Godfrey  Ledstone.  But  to  think  that  he  had 
missed  it  so  tremendously  as  this!  And  there  were  the 
trunks  packed,  not  for  Monte  Carlo,  but  for  Madeira — 
trunks  redolent  of  respectability!  She  might  be  amused, 
but  her  amusement  could  not  be  devoid  of  malice;  she 
might  smile,  but  Bob  must  suffer — well,  just  a  little,  any- 
how. She  looked  up  at  him,  smiling  still  in  treacherous 
amiability. 

"Is  this  a  proposal  of  marriage,  Bob?"  she  asked. 

He  flushed.  "Well — er  —  you  can't  marry,  can  you, 
Winnie  ?" 

"Not  at  the  moment.  But  I  can  in  a  little  more  than 
six  months.  Would  you  and  Monte  Carlo  wait  for  me  ?" 

"In  a  little  more  than — ?     What,  is  Maxon — ?" 

"Yes,  he  is — very  soon  now." 

232 


AN    HEROIC    OFFER 

"You  never  told  me!" 

"Up  to  now  I  had  no  reason  to  suppose  you  were  in- 
terested." 

Bob  Purnett  was  obviously  upset,  very  much  upset  in- 
deed. He  stared  at  her  for  a  moment,  his  eyes  seeming 
prominent  in  their  aghast  surprise.  "Good  Lord!"  he 
muttered,  and  started  striding  across  the  room,  then  back 
again — like  Mr.  Ledstone  in  the  back  room  at  Woburn 
Square  or  Godfrey  in  his  new  studio.  He  went  on  with 
this  for  three  or  four  minutes.  Winnie  sat  with  her  head 
resting  on  the  high  back  of  her  arm-chair,  her  eyes  following 
him  in  scornful  amusement  and  gratified  malice.  Bob  was 
suffering  for  his  presumption,  his  inability  to  appreciate 
plain  differences,  his  gross  misjudgment  of  her.  His  wrig- 
glings  under  the  chastisement  were  entertaining  to  watch. 
In  his  unfortunate  person  she  seemed  to  be  punishing  all 
the  great  world  which  had  refused  to  understand  her;  she 
was  getting  a  little  bit  of  her  own  back  at  last. 

Once,  as  he  walked,  he  looked  at  her.  His  face  was  red, 
and  he  was  frowning.  Winnie's  steady  smile  seemed  to 
give  him  no  comfort.  With  a  queer  jerk  of  his  head  he  re- 
sumed his  restless  pacing. 

Indeed,  Bob  felt  himself  fairly  caught.  What  a  fool  he 
had  been  not  to  reconnoitre  the  ground  before  an  advance 
which  had  proved  so  rash!  But  he  was  not  a  scoundrel; 
he  prided  himself  on  "playing  the  game."  Some  men  he 
knew  would  lightly  give  a  promise  if  it  were  likely  to  serve 
their  purpose  and  make  no  bones  about  breaking  it  six 
months  hence.  That  was  not  his  way,  even  where  it  would 
serve  his  purpose.  What  he  was  asking,  as  he  paced,  was 
whether  he  were  bound  to  make  the  promise;  if  he  made  it, 
it  should  be  kept.  Of  course,  it  was  the  last  thing  he  had 

233 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

ever  meant;  it  was  entirely  outside  his  scheme  of  life,  and 
his  feeling  for  Winnie  was  not  nearly  strong  enough  to  oust 
his  scheme  from  the  first  place  in  his  affections.  But  could 
he  get  out  of  the  hole  he  was  in  without  brutality,  without 
insulting  her  ?  He  did  not  see  that  he  could.  She  had  not 
married  Godfrey  Ledstone — it  had  been  impossible.  In 
his  heart  Bob  had  never  believed  in  there  being  any  other 
really  operative  reason.  Her  theories  had  been  just  a  mak- 
ing the  best  of  it.  Now  it  would  be  possible,  shortly,  for 
her  to  marry  him.  It  was,  he  conceded,  entirely  natural 
that  she  should  jump  at  the  chance.  Could  he  decline,  after 
his  first  proposal  ?  That  would  be  to  put  the  case — both 
his  and  her  cases,  in  fact — in  disagreeably  plain  terms.  But 
he  felt  that  it  was  terribly  bad  luck,  and  he,  too,  had  his 
resentment — an  angry  protest  against  inconsistency.  Why 
did  Maxon  first  refuse,  and  then  take  back  his  refusal  ? 
Why  did  Winnie  cross  the  line,  and  then  want  to  cross  back 
again?  They  "let  a  man  in"  by  behavior  like  that — let 
him  in  very  badly. 

Still,  he  was  in  his  way  very  fond  of  her;  and  he  was  sorry 
for  her.  It  did  not  lie  in  him  to  hurt  her  wilfully,  even 
though  not  hurting  her  were  to  his  own  damage.  And, 
then,  it  would  be  rather  heroic — so  very  much  the  right 
thing  to  do.  In  common  with  most  of  mankind,  he  was 
susceptible  to  the  attractions  of  the  heroic;  the  glamour  of  it 
would — or,  at  all  events,  might — help  him  to  bear  the  situation. 

He  came  and  stood  in  front  of  her,  his  hands  in  his 
pockets;  he  looked  rather  sheepish. 

"All  right,  Winnie.  Just  as  soon  as  it's  possible.  There's 
my  word  on  it."  He  mustered  a  smile.  "Don't  be  too 
down  on  me,  though.  I  never  pictured  myself  as  a  husband, 
you  know." 

234 


AN    HEROIC    OFFER 

"You  certainly  needn't  picture  yourself  as  mine,"  said 
Winnie. 

"You  mean — you  won't  do  it?" 

"Of  course  I  won't — any  more  than  I'll  go  with  you  to 
Monte  Carlo."  She  broke  into  a  laugh  at  the  perplexity  of 
his  red  face.  "Oh,  you  old  goose,  to  think  that  I  should  do 
either!" 

Bob  knew  that  his  first  proposal  was  irregular,  and 
might  have  been  taken  as  insulting — at  least  by  a  woman 
so  inconsistent  as  Winnie;  his  second  was  undoubtedly 
handsome  and  heroic.  He  could  not  see  that  either  was 
ridiculous.  He  flushed  redder  still  under  the  friendly  con- 
tempt of  Winnie's  words. 

"I  don't  see  anything  so  particularly  absurd  about  it. 
When  I  thought  you  couldn't  marry,  I  didn't  ask  you  to. 
When  you  told  me  you  could,  I  did.  What's  the  matter 
with  that?" 

"Why,  you  are — and  I  am — very  much  the  matter  with 
it!  But  don't  fly  out  at  me,  Bob.  I  might  have  flown  out 
at  you,  but  I  didn't." 

"Oh,  you  got  home  all  Tight  in  your  own  way.  You've 
made  me  look  an  ass."  His  tone  expressed  a  grudging, 
resentful  admiration;  his  glance  was  of  the  same  order. 
He  was  furious,  and  Winnie,  in  her  animation  and  triumph, 
was  very  pretty. 

"I  don't  see  that  it's  altogether  my  doing.  I  think  you 
helped.  Come,  don't  be  cross.  You  know  that  you're 
most  awfully  relieved.  Your  face,  as  you  considered  the 
question,  was  a  study  in  consternation." 

He  was  certainly  relieved  about  the  marriage;  but  he  was 
disappointed  and  hurt  about  the  trip  to  Monte  Carlo.  If 
she  had  "flown  out"  at  him  in  moral  indignation,  that 
16  235 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

would  have  been  intelligible — though,  again,  in  his  opinion, 
hardly  consistent — conduct  on  her  part;  as  it  was,  she  had 
called  him,  not  a  scoundrel,  but  a  goose,  and  had  played  her 
trick  on  him  with  a  smiling  face,  looking  the  while  most  at- 
tractive and  hopelessly  unapproachable. 

"Well,  I  mean  what  I  say.  My  offer  stands.  Perhaps 
you'll  think  better  of  your  answer."  His  voice  was  doggedly 
angry  now.  He  plainly  suggested  that  she — in  her  position 
— might  go  farther  and  fare  worse. 

Winnie  did  not  miss  the  hint,  but  let  it  pass  with  a  gay 
contempt. 

"I  won't  quarrel;  I  don't  mean  to.  If  I  had,  I  should 
have  quarrelled  at  the  beginning."  She  jumped  up  from 
her  chair  and  laid  a  hand  on  his  arm.  "Let's  forgive  each 
other,  Bob!" 

Under  a  sudden  impulse  he  caught  her  round  the  waist. 
Winnie's  figure  stiffened  into  a  sudden  rigidity,  but  she 
made  no  other  movement.  Bob's  arm  fell  away  again;  he 
walked  off  toward  a  chair  behind  the  door,  on  which  he  had 
left  his  hat  and  gloves.  "I  expect  I'd  better  go,"  he  said, 
in  an  unsteady  voice,  without  turning  his  head  toward  her. 

"Please,  Bob." 

The  situation  was  relieved,  or,  at  least,  ended,  by  the 
opening  of  the  door.  The  parlor-maid  announced,  "Major 
Merriam,  Miss!" 

The  Major  came  in  briskly.  A  large  funnel-shaped  par- 
cel of  white  paper  proclaimed  a  bouquet  of  flowers.  Bob, 
behind  the  door,  was  not  within  the  Major's  immediate 
range  of  vision. 

"Well,  Miss  Wilson,  are  you  all  ready  for  the  voyage  ? 
I've  brought  you  a  few  flowers  for  your  cabin." 

"Oh,  thank  you  so  much.  May  I — er — introduce  you  to 

236 


AN    HEROIC    OFFER 

my  friend,  Mr.  Purnett  ?  Mr.  Purnett — Major  Merriam." 
The  Major  bowed  politely;  Bob  rather  stiffly. 

"I  was  just  off,"  he  said,  coming  back  toward  Winnie, 
with  hat  and  gloves  in  his  left  hand.  He  was  wondering 
"who  the  devil  is  that  chap  ?" — and  "what  was  that  about 
a  voyage  and  a  cabin  ?" 

"Yes,  we're  actually  nearly  ready,  women  though  we  are! 
Emily's  so  splendid  at  it!  Must  you  go,  Bob  ?  It  '11  be 
some  time  before  we  meet  again.  We're  off  to  Madeira 
to-morrow  morning,  and  then  on  to  Italy — to  the  Lakes." 
She  smiled  on  Bob,,  "But  I'm  afraid  we  sha'n't  get  to 
Monte  Carlo!" 

"I  didn't  know  you  were — were  going  away." 

"I  was  just  going  to  tell  you  when  Major  Merriam  came 
in.  We're  all  looking  forward  to  it;  aren't  we,  Major  ? 
Major  Merriam  and  his  father  are  going  with  us  as  far  as 
Madeira." 

"The  ladies  are  good  enough  to  accept  our  escort  and  our 
company  for  two  or  three  weeks,"  said  Bertie  Merriam. 
He  thought  the  other  fellow  looked  rather  sulky. 

"Going  to  be  away  long?"     Bob  jerked  out  the  inquiry. 

"Oh,  about  three  months,  I  think.  Well,  if  you  must  go, 
good-bye,  Bob.  So  good  of  you  to  come  and  see  me." 
She  smelled  the  nosegay  which  she  had  taken  from  Bertie. 
"Your  flowers  are  delicious,  Major  Merriam!" 

Bob  Purnett  had  never  dreamed  of  such  a  factor  in  the 
situation  as  the  Major  now  presented  —  this  perfectly 
equipped,  much-at-ease  Major,  who  had  no  doubt  that  his 
flowers  would  be  welcome,  and  whose  company  was  ac- 
cepted as  far  as  Madeira — for  two  or  three  weeks,  indeed,  in 
Madeira.  The  feelings  which  had  prompted  him  to  put 
his  hand  round  Winnie's  waist  transformed  themselves  into 

237 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

a  fierce  jealousy.  She  had  laughed  at  his  proposal — his 
heroic  offer.  Would  she  laugh  at  the  Major's,  if  he  made 
one  ?  In  one  way  and  another  his  feelings  had  by  now 
carried  him  far  from  the  mood  in  which  he  had  originally 
braced  himself  up  to  the  proposal.  He  had  made  it  for 
honor's  sake.  He  would  have  made  it  now  to  stop  her 
from  going  to  Madeira  with  the  Major.  His  mind  was  not 
quick  of  movement,  yet  he  suddenly  realized  that  not  im- 
probably he  would  see  no  more  of  her.  His  world  was  not, 
save  in  the  casual  intercourse  of  the  hunting-field,  the  world 
of  men  like  the  Major. 

"Well,  good-bye;  I  wish  you  a  pleasant  voyage,"  he 
managed  to  say,  under  the  eyes  of  the  Major. 

"Good-bye — and  au  revoir — when  I  come  back!" 

How  he  hated  the  eyes  of  the  Major!  He  did  not  dare 
even  to  press  her  hand;  the  Major  would  detect  it  and  laugh 
at  him!  A  limp  shake  was  all  he  could  give.  Then  he 
had  to  go  away  and  leave  her  with  the  Major — leave  her  to 
make  ready,  not  for  Monte  Carlo  with  him,  but  for  Madeira 
with  the  Major.  That  was  a  fine  reward  for  an  heroic 
offer!  Certainly,  in  her  duel  against  the  male  sex,  Winnie 
had  scored  some  hits  that  afternoon. 

Listlessly  and  disconsolately  he  strolled  toward  Piccadilly. 
He  was  at  odds  with  the  world.  He  had  nobody  to  go  to 
Monte  Carlo  with — nobody  he  cared  a  straw  about.  In- 
deed, whom  did  he  care  about  really,  or  who  really  cared 
about  him  ?  He  had  a  lot  of  friends  of  a  sort;  but  how 
much  did  he  care  for  them,  or  they  for  him  ?  Precious 
little — that  was  the  truth,  seen  in  the  unusual  clarity  of  this 
afternoon's  atmosphere.  Other  men  had  wives  or  children 
or  devoted  friends.  He  seemed  to  have  nobody.  Disgust- 
ing world  it  was!  And  he  liked  Winnie — nay,  he  more  than 


AN    HEROIC    OFFER 

liked  her.  He  had  learned  that  also  this  afternoon.  And 
he  had,  in  the  end,  proposed  the  handsome  thing.  For 
nobody  else  in  the  world  would  he  have  done  that.  His 
reward  had  been  ridicule  from  her — and  the  appearance  of 
the  Major.  "It's  all  a  bit  too  thick,"  reflected  poor  Bob 
Purnett,  thus  suddenly  brought  up  against  the  sort  of  thing 
that  is  prone  occasionally  to  happen  to  people  who  lead  the 
sort  of  life  he  led.  But  he  did  not  explicitly  connect  the  sort 
of  life  and  the  sort  of  thing.  He  had  no  more  than  a  gen- 
eral, but  desperate,  sense  of  desolation.  The  times  were 
out  of  joint. 

When  a  man  is  miserable  he  is  under  sore  temptation  to 
hurt  somebody — even  some  blameless  individual,  whose 
only  crime  is  that  he  forms  a  minute  (and  involuntary)  part 
of  the  world  which  is  behaving  so  badly.  Should  a  par- 
ticularly vulnerable  person  chance  to  pass  by,  let  him  look 
out  for  himself!  One  connected,  however  remotely,  with 
the  cause  of  the  misery,  for  instance.  Misery  is  apt  to  see 
a  foe  everywhere — and  to  seek  a  companion. 

Just  as  Bob  was  passing  Hyde  Park  Corner  he  ran  plump 
into  Godfrey  Ledstone,  who  came  out  from  the  Park  at  a 
quick  walk.  The  street-lamp  revealed  them  to  each  other. 
Godfrey  would  have  passed  by  with  a  nod  and  a  "How  are 
you  ?"  That  was  not  at  all  Bob's  idea.  He  was  resolute 
in  buttonholing  his  friend,  in  saying  how  long  it  was  since 
they  had  met,  in  telling  him  about  his  doings  in  the  mean 
time.  He  enjoyed  Godfrey's  uneasiness;  for  Godfrey  set 
him  down  as  a  sympathizer  with  Winnie  and  was  in  fear  of 
reference  to  the  topic.  Bob  made  the  reference  in  his  own 
good  time. 

"Funny  I  should  meet  you!"  he  observed,  with  a  strong 
draw  at  his  cigar. 

239 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

"Is  it?     I  don't  know.     I  often  take  this  walk." 

"  Because  I've  just  come  from  calling  on  Winnie."  He 
eyed  his  prospective  victim  gloatingly.  He  was  like  a 
savage  who  thinks  that  he  can  unload  some  of  his  misfortune 
onto  his  neighbor  by  employing  the  appropriate  ceremonies. 

"Oh,  I— I  hope  she's  all  right?" 

"Seems  blooming.  I  didn't  have  much  talk  with  her, 
though.  There  was  a  chap  dancing  attendance — a  Major 
somebody  or  other.  Oh  yes,  Merriam — Major  Merriam. 
He  came  in  pretty  soon  with  a  bouquet  of  flowers  as  big  as 
your  head.  Seems  that  she  and  Mrs.  Lerioir  are  off  abroad 
to-morrow,  and  our  friend  the  Major  goes  too.  I  don't 
think  you  need  make  yourself  unhappy  about  Winnie,  old 
chap." 

"Who  is  he  ?     I  never  heard  of  him." 

"Well,  I  didn't  suppose  you  and  she  were  keeping  up  a 
correspondence!  If  you  come  to  that,  I  should  rather  doubt 
if  he  ever  heard  of  you."  Bob  smiled  in  a  fashion  less 
amiable  than  was  his  wont. 

"Well,  I'm  in  a  hurry.     Good-bye,  old  man.'" 

"Walking  my  way?"  He  indicated  Piccadilly  and  east- 
ward. 

It  had  been  Godfrey's  way  home.  "I've  got  to  go  to  a 
shop  in  Sloane  Street,"  said  Godfrey. 

"Ta-ta  then!  It  '11  be  a  relief  to  you  if  she  settles  down 
all  right,  won't  it  ?" 

Godfrey  said  nothing  more  than  "Good-bye."  But  his 
face,  as  he  said  it,  was  very  expressive;  it  quite  satisfied 
Bob  Purnett's  impulse  to  hurt  somebody.  Godfrey  Led- 
stone  did  not  like  Major  Merriam  any  more  than  he  himself 
did!  The  magical  ceremony  had  worked;  some  of  his  mis- 
fortune was  unloaded. 

240 


AN    HEROIC    OFFER 

Well,  the  two  were  in  the  end  much  in  the  same  case. 
Winnie  had  led  Godfrey  into  the  great  experiment,  and 
through  it  into  the  great  failure.  She  had,  this  afternoon, 
made  Bob  Purnett,  in  his  turn,  false  to  his  settled  plan  of 
life,  had  sent  him  away  sore  and  savage  because  he  could 
not  do  the  one  thing  which  he  had  always  scornfully  de- 
clared that  he  would  never  do.  She  had  left  them  both — 
left  Godfrey  to  those  proceedings,  to  the  family  woe,  to 
Miss  Thurseley's  immediate  repudiation;  left  Bob  to  con- 
template a  lost  pleasure,  a  fruitless  heroism,  and  the  Major 
in  Madeira.  The  two  ought  to  have  sympathized  with 
each  other.  Yet  their  thoughts  about  each  other  were  not 
friendly.  "If  I'd  known  the  sort  of  chap  he  was  I'd  have 
had  a  shot  at  it  sooner,"  thought  Bob.  Godfrey's  protest 
went  deeper.  "  Of  course,  it  '11  happen,  but  why  in  Heaven's 
name  need  he  tell  me  about  it  ?"  For  Bob  had  suppressed 
all  that  part  of  the  story  which  accounted  for  his  telling. 

They  went  their  separate  ways — artificially  separate  on 
this  occasion,  since  there  was  no  shop  in  Sloane  Street  at 
which  Godfrey  Ledstone  desired  to  call.  They  went  their 
ways  with  their  thoughts,  in  whose  mirror  each  saw  Winnie 
smiling  on  the  Major.  Precisely  what  Miss  Wilson  was 
doing  at  the  moment!  Jealous  men  see  more  than  happens, 
but  what  happens  they  generally  see. 


XXI 

IS   HE   A    BULLY? 

CYRIL  MAXON'S  strong-willed  and  domineering  nat- 
ure registered  its  own  decrees  as  having  the  force  of 
law,  and  regarded  its  own  resolutions  as  accomplished  facts. 
When  he  had  once  achieved  the  requisite  modification  of 
his  opinions,  and  had  decided  that  he  wanted  to  marry 
Lady  Rosaline  in  due  time,  he  thought  of  her  in  his  secret 
soul  as  already  his — at  any  rate,  as  set  apart  for  him — 
and  he  found  no  difficulty  in  declaring  that  she  had  given 
a  tacit  consent  in  their  interview  in  Paris  and  in  the  relations 
of  friendship  which  now  existed  between  her  and  himself. 

But,  naturally,  the  lady  did  not  adopt  the  same  view, 
either  of  his  rights  or  of  her  own  actions.  The  "very  most" 
she  had  given  him  was  leave  to  try  his  fortune,  to  recommend 
himself  to  her  during  the  interval  of  time  which  was  un- 
avoidable. She  was  really  rather  glad  of  the  interval,  and 
observed  one  day  to  Mrs.  Ladd  that  it  would  be  no  bad 
thing  if  everybody  were  forced  to  wait  either  eight  or  nine 
months  before  they  married.  "Especially  if  we  are  to  be 
bound  by  Mr.  Attlebury's  opinion!"  she  added,  laughing. 

She  liked  the  idea  of  the  marriage;  it  was  suitable,  and 
she  was  lonely  and  not  rich.  She  was  not  yet  sure  how 
much  she  liked  the  man  as  she  came  to  know  him  more  in- 
timately; now  and  then  she  saw  signs  of  something  which 

242 


IS    HE    A    BULLY? 

helped  her  to  a  better  understanding  of  Mrs.  Maxon's  at- 
titude. "Oh,  I'm  not  afraid  of  fighting,"  she  would  then 
say  to  herself;  "  but  I  don't  want  to  have  to  fight  all  the  time. 
It's  fatiguing,  and  rather  vulgar."  So  she  temporized,  as 
the  situation  enabled  her  to  do;  for  Maxon  was  still  a  tied 
man,  however  technical  the  tie  had  become;  he  was  not  in 
a  position  to  force  the  pace.  This  accidental  fact  helped 
her  to  hold  her  own  against  his  strong  will  and  domineering 
instincts;  for  his  conscience  had  granted  him  relief  only  on 
one  point  (if  really  on  that),  and  it  did  not  allow  him  to  for- 
get that  he  was  still  a  married  man. 

Lady  Rosaline's  attitude  excited,  of  course,  the  liveliest 
curiosity  and  an  abundance  of  gossip  on  the  part  of  her 
friends,  Mrs.  Ladd  and  Miss  Fortescue.  What  did  Rosa- 
line mean  to  do  ?  "Oh,  she  means  to  have  him,"  exclaimed 
Miss  Fortescue,  "in  the  end,  you  know!" 

"I  think  she  will,  but  I  believe  that  quite  a  little  thing 
might  turn  her,"  was  Mrs.  Ladd's  more  cautious  verdict. 
Cyril  Maxon  would  not  have  received  it  pleasantly. 

The  good  ladies'  great  disappointment  was  that  they 
could  not  induce  their  revered  pastor  to  say  a  word  on  the 
subject,  accessible  and,  indeed,  chatty  as  he  generally  was 
with  his  flock.  When  Maxon  had  taken  the  first  step  in 
those  proceedings  which  had  so  maddened  poor  old  Mr. 
Ledstone,  he  had  written  to  his  friend  a  long  and  highly 
argumentative  letter,  justifying  his  course.  Attlebury  had 
replied  in  kind,  and  suggested  an  interview.  This  Maxon 
declined  as  painful  to  him,  and  ended  with  an  asseveration 
that  his  conscience  approved  the  course  he  was  taking. 

"If  it  does,  there's  not  much  use  in  my  saying  any  more; 
but  make  sure  it  does,"  was  Attlebury 's  answer.  Maxon 
took  some  offence  at  it,  as  though  it  impugned  his  sincerity. 

243 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

There  was  no  open  rupture,  but  the  men  did  not  meet  any 
more  in  intimate  friendship;  there  was  a  reserve  between 
them.  Yet  Attlebury  had  said  no  more,  or  very  little  more, 
than  Lady  Rosaline  herself;  she  also  had  asked  that  his 
own  conscience  should  approve.  But  Attlebury  could  not, 
or,  at  all  events,  did  not,  keep  the  note  of  authority  out  of 
his  counsel.  Maxon  stiffened  his  neck  instinctively.  Be- 
fore the  necessary  interval  had  run  half  its  course,  this  in- 
stinct was  powerfully  seconded  by  another. 

He  had  gone  to  tea  with  Mrs.  Ladd  one  Sunday.  They 
were  old  acquaintances,  and  for  several  years  back  he  had 
been  accustomed  to  pay  her  five  or  six  calls  in  the  course 
of  a  twelvemonth;  on  which  occasions,  since  his  marriage, 
Mrs.  Ladd  had  discreetly  condoled  with  him  over  Win- 
nie's shortcomings.  But  Winnie  had  disappeared  for  good; 
there  was  now  a  topic  even  more  attractive. 

"Rosaline  and  I  talk  of  a  little  trip  abroad  together  in  a 
month's  time."  She  smiled  at  him.  "Will  you  forgive  me 
if  I  take  her  away  for  three  or  four  weeks  ?" 

"I  shall  miss  you  both  very  much.  I  wish  I  could  go 
too,  but  it's  quite  impossible." 

"I  think  she  wants  a  change."  What  Mrs.  Ladd  wished 
to  convey  was  that  the  necessary  interval  might  be  tiresome 
to  Lady  Rosaline,  but  she  did  not  quite  see  how  to  put  it 
delicately.  "It's  a  long  drag  from  Christmas  to  Easter, 
isn't  it  ?  Have  you  seen  her  lately  ?" 

"I  paid  her  a  late  call  one  day  last  week — that's  all.  I'm 
very  busy." 

"Of  course  you  are — with  your  practice!  Have  you  met 
a  Sir  Axel  Thrapston  at  Rosaline's  ?" 

"Axel  Thrapston  ?  No,  I  don't  think  so.  No,  I'm  sure 
not."  He  very  seldom  met  anybody  at  Lady  Rosaline's, 

244 


IS    HE    A    BULLY? 

as  his  visits  were  timed  so  as  to  avoid,  as  far  as  possible, 
such  a  contingency.  "Who  is  he  ?" 

"I  don't  know  much  about  him  myself.  He  comes  from 
Northumberland,  I  think,  and  lives  there  generally.  I  be- 
lieve his  wife  was  an  old  friend  of  Rosaline's;  she  died  about 
two  years  ago.  I've  met  him  there  twice — a  middle-aged 
man,  rather  bald,  but  quite  good-looking." 

"No,  I  haven't  met  him,  Mrs.  Ladd." 

"He  seems  just  to  have  made  his  appearance,  but  I  think 
he's  rather  assiduous."  She  laughed  again.  "And  two 
years  is  just  about  the  dangerous  time,  isn't  it  ?" 

Thus  Mrs.  Ladd,  hinting  to  Cyril  Maxon,  in  all  friend- 
ship, that  he  was  not  the  only  man  in  the  world  and  had 
better  not  forget  the  fact.  Friend  as  she  was,  she  knew 
enough  of  her  man  to  feel  a  certain  pleasure  in  administer- 
ing the  wholesome  warning. 

It  needed  more  to  drive  Cyril  Maxon  from  his  confident 
appropriation  of  Lady  Rosaline,  but  that  something  more 
was  not  long  in  coming.  He,  too,  met  Sir  Axel  at  her  flat — 
once  or  twice  in  the  hours  which  he  had  grown  into  the 
habit  of  considering  as  reserved  for  himself;  he  tried  very 
hard  to  show  neither  surprise  nor  annoyance,  but  he  felt  an 
immediate  grievance.  Here  was  he,  the  busiest  of  men, 
painfully  contriving  a  spare  hour;  was  he  to  spend  it  in 
three-cornered,  trivial  talk  ?  Thrapston  had  all  the  long,  idle 
day  to  call.  Lady  Rosaline  really  might  give  him  a  hint! 
But  it  appeared  not  to  strike  her  that  she  might.  And  she 
seemed  to  like  Sir  Axel's  company — as,  indeed,  most  people 
would.  He  was  a  simple  country-gentleman,  no  fool  at  all 
at  his  own  business,  but  without  much  pretension  to  intel- 
lectual or  artistic  culture.  This,  however,  he  could  recog- 
nize and  respect;  he  recognized  and  respected  it  in  Lady 

245 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

Rosaline,  was  anxious  to  learn  from  her,  and  deferred  to 
her  authority.  "When  people  wish  to  attach,  they  should 
always  be  ignorant.  To  come  with  a  well-informed  mind 
is  to  come  with  an  inability  of  administering  to  the  vanity  of 
others  which  a  sensible  person  would  always  wish  to  avoid." 
Jane  Austen  perhaps  allows  herself  a  little  malice  in  this 
remark,  but  we  cannot  deny  that  she  speaks  with  authority 
on  human  nature. 

On  one  occasion,  when  he  did  find  his  friend  alone,  Maxon 
complained  of  the  times  when  he  had  not. 

"I've  nothing  against  him,  of  course,  but  it's  you  I  come 
to  talk  to.  Why,  I  scandalize  my  clerk,  and  sometimes  my 
clients,  for  the  sake  of  coming!"  He  managed  to  keep 
voice  and  manner  playful. 

She  was  gracious,  admitting  the  force  of  his  plea.  "It 
was  stupid  of  me  not  to  think!  Of  course  Sir  Axel  can  come 
at  any  time.  I'll  give  him  a  hint  to  call  earlier.  Is  that 
satisfactory,  my  lord  ?"  She  sometimes  called  him  by  that 
title — partly  in  anticipation  of  the  judgeship,  but  also  with 
a  hint  of  raillery  at  the  domineering  nature. 

"It's  very  kind — and  don't  you  like  it  better  like  this 
yourself?" 

"  Perhaps  I  do.  And  clearly  you  do.  And  " — she  smiled 
— "very  likely  Sir  Axel  does.  We  shall  all  three  be 
pleased!  Delightful!" 

"I  wasn't  thinking  of  his  point  of  view,  I  confess."  He 
was  rather  too  scornful. 

"No,  but  he  may  think  of  it,  I  suppose  ?  And  I  suppose 
I  may,  if  I  like,  Mr.  Maxon  ?" 

He  looked  at  her  sourly  for  just  a  moment,  then  recovered 
himself  and,  without  replying,  passed  on  to  the  subject  of  a 
book  which  he  had  brought  her.  But  he  was  annoyed  that 

246 


IS    HE    A    BULLY? 

she  should  resist  him,  stand  up  to  him,  and  claim  her  liberty 
— especially  her  liberty  to  receive  Sir  Axel  alone.  How- 
ever, it  was  not  good  fighting-ground;  he  had  brought  her 
rebuke  upon  himself. 

Lady  Rosaline  was  quite  alive  to  the  fact  that  Sir  Axel's 
appearance  and  Sir  Axel's  attentiveness  were  a  valuable 
asset  to  her,  but  she  did  not  think  of  her  old  friend's  hus- 
band in  any  other  light.  To  begin  with,  he  himself,  though 
assiduous,  had  shown  no  sign  of  sentiment.  If  he  were 
moving  in  that  direction  at  all,  he  was  moving  slowly  and 
secretly.  And  then  she  was  still  inclined  to  Maxon.  She 
had  a  great  opinion  of  his  ability — she  was  more  sure  about 
that  than  about  how  much  she  liked  him — and  the  chances 
of  a  high  career  for  him  allured  her.  But  Sir  Axel  and  his 
assiduity  enhanced  her  value  and  buttressed  her  independ- 
ence. They  helped  her  to  establish  her  position;  she  had 
an  idea  that  the  more  firmly  she  established  it  now,  the 
better  it  would  resist  any  attacks  on  it  if  and  when  she 
became  Lady  Rosaline  Maxon.  Here  she  was  probably 
right.  But  she  had  another  idea  too.  She  was  not  going 
to  be  dictated  to;  she  would  not  be  browbeaten  into  becom- 
ing Lady  Rosaline  Maxon. 

In  this  state  of  external  affairs  and  internal  disposi- 
tions, the  "proceedings"  came  and  went — really  meaning 
no  more  than  a  transitory  quarter  of  an  hour's  annoyance  to 
the  rising  Cyril  Maxon,  for  whom  everything  was  made  as 
easy  and  sympathetic  as  possible.  Other  effects  in  Woburn 
Square,  no  doubt — possibly  others  in  Madeira!  Yet  tran- 
sitory and  formal  as  they  were,  the  proceedings  left  behind 
them  a  state  of  affairs  more  essentially  transitory  and  formal 
still.  The  tie  was  now  a  mere  technicality,  and  when  con- 
science took  the  position  that  Cyril  Maxon  was  still  a  mar- 

247 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

ried  man  for  all  purposes,  conscience  began  to  seem  to  put 
the  matter  too  high.  For  present  conduct,  yes — and  he  had 
no  wish  to  run  counter  to  the  injunction,  for  reasons  both 
moral  and  prudential;  but  for  laying  down  the  future  on 
definite  lines  ?  That  seemed  a  different  point.  He  recon- 
sidered his  attitude — not  without  being  influenced,  more  or 
less  consciously,  by  Lady  Rosaline's  independence  and  by 
the  assiduity  of  Sir  Axel  Thrapston.  The  hint  that  she  still 
considered  herself  free,  the  notion  of  a  rival,  turned  the  neces- 
sary interval  from  a  mere  nuisance  into  a  possible  danger. 
Moreover,  she  was  going  abroad  with  Mrs.  Ladd,  and  he 
could  not  follow.  Mrs.  Ladd  was  a  friendly  influence,  but 
he  would  like  to  define  the  situation  before  Lady  Rosaline 
went.  Not  desiring  to  risk  a  peculiarly  annoying  collision 
with  Sir  Axel,  he  wrote  and  asked  her  for  an  appointment. 

She  neither  desired  to  refuse  the  interview,  nor  well 
could.  But  she  scented  an  attack,  and  stood  instinctively 
on  the  defensive.  She  wanted  just  the  opposite  of  what 
Cyril  Maxon  did;  the  trip  first  and  the  decision  afterward 
was  her  order  of  events.  She  relied  on  the  necessary  in- 
terval, while  he  was  now  out  of  patience  with  it.  "I  won't 
be  rushed!"  she  said  to  herself.  She  gave  him  the  appoint- 
ment he  asked  on  a  Saturday  afternoon  (he  had  suggested 
that  comparatively  free  day)  at  half-past  four,  but  she  let 
drop  to  Sir  Axel  that  she  would  be  at  home  at  half-past  five 
on  the  same  afternoon.  Her  motive  in  doing  this  was  rather 
vague — just  a  notion  that  some  discussions  can  go  on  too 
long,  or  that  she  might  like  to  relax  an  agitated  mind  in  talk 
with  a  friend,  or,  possibly,  that  she  might  like  to  be  told  that 
she  had  done  right.  Her  reasons  for  the  intimation  to  Sir 
Axel  defy  conclusive  analysis. 

"Lady  Rosaline,"  said  Cyril  Maxon,  as  he  put  down  his 

248 


IS    HE   A    BULLY? 

empty  tea-cup,  "last  week  saw  the  end  of  an  episode  in  my 
life."  (Mr.  Attlebury  would  hardly  have  referred  to  it  as 
an  episode.)  "The  future  is  my  concern  now.  I  took  the 
action  I  did  take  on  the  fullest  consideration,  and  I'm  glad 
to  think,  from  what  you  said  in  Paris,  that  it  had  your  ap- 
proval." He  paused  a  moment.  "I  hope  I'm  not  wrong  in 
thinking  that  you  understood  why  I  took  it,  when  once  I 
had  made  up  my  mind  that  it  was  permissible  ?" 

"Oh,  you  mustn't  make  too  much  of  what  I  said  in  Paris. 
I'm  no  authority.  I  left  it  to  you." 

He  smiled.  "The  question  of  permissibility — naturally. 
But  the  other  altogether  ?  Well,  never  mind  that."  He 
rose  from  his  chair  and  stood  by  her.  "You  must  know 
that  it  was  for  your  sake  that  I  took  the  step  I  did  ?" 

She  moved  restlessly,  neither  affirming  nor  denying.  She 
knew  it  very  well. 

"Before  the  world  we  must  remain  as  we  are  for  the 
present.  But  it  would  make  a  vast  difference  to  me,  during 
this  time  of  waiting,  to  know  that  I — that  I  could  rely  on 
you,  Rosaline.  You  can  have  no  doubt  of  my  feelings, 
though  I  have  exercised  self-restraint.  I  love  you,  and  I 
want  you  to  be  my  wife  as  soon  as  possible." 

"Well,  it's  not  possible  at  present,  is  it  ?" 

"No.  But  there's  no  reason  why  we  shouldn't  have  a 
perfect  understanding  between  ourselves." 

"Wouldn't  it  make  gossip,  and  perhaps  raise  awkward 
questions,  if  we — well,  if  we  arranged  anything  definitely 
now — before  the  time's  up  ?" 

"It  would  be  quite  between  ourselves.  There  could  be 
no  questions.  There  would  be  no  difference  in  our  present 
relations— we  should  neither  of  us  wish  that.  But  the 
future  would  be  secure." 

249 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

"I  can't  see  the  good  of  being  engaged  now,  if  it's  to  make 
no  difference,"  she  murmured,  fretfully. 

"It'll  make  an  enormous  difference  in  my  feelings.  I 
think  you  know  that." 

"It  seems  to  me  to  set  up  rather  a — rather  a  difficult  state 
of  things.  You  know  how  much  I  like  you — but  why 
shouldn't  we  both  be  free  till  the  time  comes  ?"  She 
took  courage  to  raise  her  eyes  to  his  on  this  sugges- 
tion. 

"I  have  no  desire  to  be  free."  His  voice  grew  rather 
harsh.  "I  didn't  know  that  you  had.  In  Paris — " 

She  flared  out  suddenly;  for  her  conscience  was,  in  fact, 
not  quite  easy.  "Well,  what  did  I  say  in  Paris  after  all? 
You  never  said  in  Paris  what  you're  saying  now!  If  you 
had — well,  I  should  have  told  you  that  I  wasn't  at  all  ready 
to  give  a  decision.  And  I'm  not  ready  now.  I  want  this 
time  of  waiting  to  make  up  my  mind.  You're  trying  to 
drive  me  into  saying  'Yes'  before  I'm  ready.  What's  the 
good  of  that,  even  to  you'?  Because  what  prevents  me 
from  changing  my  mind  in  the  next  six  months — even  if  you 
make  me  say  '  Yes '  to  you  now  ?" 

"I  took  an  important — and  to  me  a  difficult — step  in  re- 
liance on  your  feelings  toward  me.  I  seem  to  have  been 
mistaken  about  them."  His  voice  was  sombre,  even  rather 
rancorous. 

"Don't  say  that,  Cyril.  But  why  must  I  give  up  my 
liberty  long  before — well,  long  before  I  can  get  anything 
instead  of  it  ?"  She  smiled  again,  propitiating  him.  "Let 
me  go  abroad,  anyhow.  I'll  try  to  tell  you  when  I  come 
back.  There!" 

"I  confess  to  thinking  that  you  had  practically  told  me 
long  ago.  On  the  faith  of  that  I  acted." 

250 


IS    HE    A    BULLY? 

"You've  not  the  smallest  right  to  say  that.  I  liked  you 
and  let  you  see  it.  I  never  pledged  myself." 

"Not  in  words,  I  allow." 

"Cyril,  your  insinuation  isn't  justifiable.  I  resent  it. 
Whatever  I  may  have  felt,  I  have  said  and  done  nothing  that 
I  mightn't  have  with  anybody." 

He  had  held  his  temper  hard;  it  gave  a  kick  now.  "With 
Thrapston,  for  instance  ?"  he  sneered. 

"Oh,  how  absurd!  I've  never  so  much  as  thought  of 
Sir  Axel  in  that  way!"  As  she  spoke  she  glanced  at  the 
clock.  No,  there  was  plenty  of  time.  She  did  not  desire 
an  encounter  between  the  two  this  afternoon.  She  rose  and 
stood  by  Maxon.  "You're  being  rather  exacting  and — and 
tyrannical,  my  lord,"  she  said.  "I  don't  think  I  like  you  so 
much  to-day.  You  almost  bully  me — indeed  you  do!" 

He  bent  his  eyes  on  hers,  frowning  heavily.  "I  did  it  for 
you." 

"Oh,  it's  not  fair  to  put  that  on  me!  Indeed,  it  isn't. 
But,  please,  don't  let's  quarrel.  It's  really  such  a  little  thing 
I  ask — not  much  more  than  a  month  to  think  it  over — when 
nothing  can  happen  for  more  than  six!  Indeed,  I  think  a 
year  would — well,  would  look  better  for  both  of  us." 

"Oh,  make  it  two  years — make  it  five!"  he  growled. 

"Cyril,  if  you  go  on  like  this,  I'll  make  it  never — here, 
now,  and  for  good!" 

Even  he  saw  that  he  had  gone  too  far.  He  contrived  to 
smooth  brow  and  voice,  and  put  in  the  man's  usual  plea  to 
excuse  his  rough  impatience.  "It's  only  because  I  love 
you." 

"Yes,  but  you  needn't  be  like  a  bear  making  love,"  she 
retorted,  pettishly.  Yet,  to  a  certain  extent,  she  was  ap- 
peased by  the  apology;  and  she  by  no  means  wanted  to 
17  251 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

"make  it  never"  then  and  there.  His  rudeness  and  his 
apology  together  gave  her  a  tactical  advantage  which  she 
was  not  slow  to  use.  "  But  if  you  do  love  me  as  you  say, 
you  won't  refuse  what  I  ask  of  you,"  she  went  on.  Then 
she  indulged  him  with  a  touch  of  sentiment.  "If  I  say 
'Yes,'  I  want  to  say  it  without  any  doubt — with  my  whole 
heart,  Cyril.  'Yes'  now  wouldn't  be  what  it  ought  to  be 
between  you  and  me." 

She  maintained  her  advantage  to  the  end  of  the  interview. 
She  won  her  respite;  nothing  more  was  to  be  said  till  after 
her  return  from  abroad.  Meanwhile  they  would  correspond 
as  friends — "As  great  friends  as  you  like!"  she  threw  in, 
smiling.  As  friends,  too,  they  parted  on  this  occasion;  for 
when  he  offered  to  embrace  her  she  held  out  her  hand  grace- 
fully, saying,  "That  '11  do  for  to-day,  I  think,  Cyril."  His 
frown  came  again,  but  he  submitted. 

In  fact,  in  the  first  encounter  between  them,  Cyril  Maxon 
was  beaten.  She  stood  up  against  him,  and  had  won  her 
way.  True,  she  was  almost  bound  to;  her  position  was 
so  much  the  more  favorable.  Yet,  however  defeat  came, 
Maxon  was  not  accustomed  to  it,  and  did  not  like  it.  And 
he  liked  her  the  less  for  inflicting  it — he  used  one  or  two 
hard  words  about  her  as  he  drove  home  from  Hans  Place 
— but  he  did  not  the  less  want  to  marry  her.  The  masterful 
element  in  him  became  the  more  urgent  to  achieve  that 
victory,  to  make  up  all  the  ground  that  he  had  lost  to-day — 
and  more.  But,  if  he  contrasted  to-day's  interview  with 
his  previous  assumptions,  it  was  plain  that  he  had  lost  a  lot 
of  ground.  What  had  seemed  the  practically  certain  be- 
came merely  the  reasonably  probable.  Instead  of  being 
to  all  intents  and  purposes  accepted,  he  was  told  that  he  was 
only  a  suitor,  though,  no  doubt,  a  suitor  who  was  entitled  to 

252 


IS    HE    A    BULLY? 

entertain  good  hopes  of  success.  Yes,  very  good  hopes,  if 
nothing  intervened.  But  he  hated  the  trip  abroad,  and  he 
hated  Sir  Axel  Thrapston — in  spite  of  Lady  Rosaline's  dis- 
claimer of  any  sentimental  interest  in  that  gentleman.  The 
mere  fact  of  her  asking  for  a  delay  made  every  delay  dan- 
gerous, and,  while  she  doubted  at  all,  any  man  much  about 
her  might  make  her  more  doubtful.  "If  she  throws  me 
over  now — •"  he  muttered  angrily  to  himself;  for  always  in 
his  mind,  as  now  and  then  on  his  lips,  was  that  "I  did  it  for 
you."  She  had  accepted  the  sacrifice  of  his  conscience; 
was  she  now  to  refuse  to  answer  his  prayer  ?  In  the  new 
light  of  her  possibly  refusing,  he  almost  admitted  the  sacri- 
fice. At  any  rate,  he  asserted,  he  had  acted  on  a  conclusion 
full  of  difficulty  and  not  quite  free  from  doubt.  It  was  be- 
yond question  that  the  case  of  conscience  might  vary  in  as- 
pect, according  as  Lady  Rosaline  Deering  did  or  did  not  say 
"Yes." 

If  the  vanquished  combatant  was  decidedly  savage,  the 
victorious  was  rather  exhausted.  Lady  Rosaline  lay  prone 
in  a  luxurious  arm-chair  before  the  fire,  doing  nothing,  feel- 
ing very  tired.  She  had  won,  but  a  succession  of  such 
victories — a  perpetual  need  of  such  victories — would  be 
Pyrrhic  in  its  effect  on  her  nerves.  The  room  seemed  sud- 
denly filled  with  an  atmosphere  of  peace.  She  gave  a  little 
stretch,  a  little  yawn,  and  nestled  down  farther  into  her  big 
chair. 

Thus  Sir  Axel  Thrapston,  punctual  to  his  half-past  five, 
and  missing  Cyril  Maxon  by  some  ten  minutes,  found  her. 
His  arrival  did  not  disturb  her  sense  of  repose,  but,  perhaps, 
rather  accentuated  it;  for  with  him  she  had  no  quarrel,  and 
about  him  no  complication  of  feelings  difficult  to  unravel. 
Moreover,  he  was  an  essentially  peaceful  person,  a  live-and- 

253 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

let-live  man.  She  received  him  graciously,  but  without  ris- 
ing from  the  big  chair. 

"Forgive  my  not  getting  up;  I'm  rather  tired.  You  take 
the  little  chair,  and  draw  it  up." 

He  did  as  he  was  bid.  "  Been  doing  too  much  ?"  he 
asked. 

"Oh,  not  particularly,  but  I  am  tired.  But  you'll  rest  me, 
if  you'll  sit  there,  and  not  mind  if  I  don't  talk  much." 
However,  she  went  on  talking.  "There  are  some  people 
whom  one  likes  and  admires  tremendously,  and  yet  who 
are  rather — well,  exacting — aren't  therfe  ?" 

Sir  Axel  would  have  been  dull  not  to  surmise  that  his 
friend  had  had  recent  experience  of  some  such  person  as 
she  described. 

"No,  exacting  isn't  quite  the  word  I  want.  I  mean,  they 
take  their  own  point  of  view  so  strongly  that  it's  really  a 
struggle — a  downright  struggle — to  make  them  see  that 
there  may  be  another." 

"I  know  the  sort  of  fellow.  My  Scotch  gardener's  one 
of  'em." 

"Well,  I  don't  know  your  Scotch  gardener,  but  I  do  know 
one  or  two  men  of  the  sort." 

"I  should  think  you  could  stand  up  for  yourself!" 

His  glance  was  one  of  friendly  appreciation  of  her — and 
of  her  appearance.  She  certainly  looked  well  in  the  fire- 
light. 

"Oh,  I  think  I  can,  but  one  doesn't  want  always  to  be 
having  to  do  it." 

"Not  good  enough  to  live  with  people  like  that,  Lady 
Rosaline!" 

He  meant  no  personal  reference,  but  his  companion  had 
little  difficulty  in  finding  a  personal  application.  Her  eyes 

254 


IS    HE    A    BULLY? 

wandered  from  the  fire  and  settled  on  his  face  in  a  medita- 
tive gaze. 

"Unless,  I  mean,  you  were  quite  sure  of  coming  out  on 
top.  And  even  then — well,  I  hate  rows,  anyhow." 

"So  do  I — even  when  I  win,  Sir  Axel!  I  do  so  agree  with 
you."  The  eyes  took  on  a  grateful  look.  Sir  Axel  was 
making  a  more  favorable  impression  than  the  good  man  had 
any  idea  of.  Cyril  Maxon  was  responsible  for  Sir  Axel's 
success  this  afternoon;  it  was  a  true  instinct  that  had  led 
Lady  Rosaline  to  make  a  second  appointment!  Her  nerves 
were  soothed;  her  weariness  passed  into  a  pleasant  languor. 
She  smiled  at  him  indolently,  in  peaceful  contentment. 

"When  did  you  say  you  were  off?"  she  inquired.  In  ask- 
ing when  he  might  come  to  see  her,  he  had  founded  his  plea 
on  the  ground  of  an  early  departure  from  London. 

"Next  Tuesday.  I'm  looking  forward  to  it.  I've  never 
seen  Venice.  I  shall  be  at  Danieli's." 

"Now,  did  I  ask  for  your  address,  Sir  Axel  ?" 

He  laughed.  "Oh,  I  was  playing  my  own  hand.  I 
thought  perhaps,  if  I  couldn't  stand  my  own  society  all  the 
time,  you'd  let  me  pay  a  call  on  you  at  the  Lakes  on  my 
way  back." 

Lady  Rosaline  and  Mrs.  Ladd  had  planned  an  absolutely 
quiet  time  at  the  Italian  Lakes.  But,  then,  Sir  Axel  was 
absolutely  quiet — after  Cyril  Maxon. 

"Well,  I  might  go  so  far  as  to  send  you  an  address. 
Don't  consider  it  a  command — or  even  an  invitation!" 

"You  see,  I  don't  know  a  soul  out  there,  and  can't  speak 
a  word  of  the  language." 

"Well,  if  absolute  desperation  drives  you  to  our  door, 
perhaps  we'll  let  you  stay  a  little." 

"Oh,  I  say,  I  didn't  quite  mean  that!" 

255 


MRS.  MAXON    PROTESTS 

"  The  fact  is,  you're  not  very  good  at  pretty  speeches,  are 
you  ?  But  I  don't  mind  that — and  you  know  I  should  al- 
ways be  glad  to  see  you." 

Sir  Axel  departed  well  pleased,  not  knowing  to  whom  or 
to  what  the  better  part  of  his  pleasure  might  justly  be  at- 
tributed. So  may  we  profit  by  our  neighbors'  blunders,  and 
find  therein  some  consolation  for  our  sufferings  from  their 
superior  brilliancy. 


XXII 

JUDGMENT   ACCORDINGLY 

/"CERTAINLY  the  quartette  made  a  very  agreeable  party 
\^J  in  Madeira.  It  proved  to  be  as  happily  composed  as 
the  Major  had  anticipated.  The  two  elders  enjoyed  the 
sunshine,  the  fine  nights,  the  casino,  much  gossip  with  each 
other  and  with  casual  coevals  who  had  anything  to  add. 
The  young  couple  made  their  excursions,  had  their  bath  and 
a  little  lawn-tennis  (Winnie  could  not  be  roused  to  en- 
thusiasm over  this),  gambled  mildly,  and  danced  enthu- 
siastically. Not  all  these  things  with  each  other  exclu- 
sively. There  were  other  young  women  there,  and  other 
young  men.  The  Major  was  in  request  among  the  former; 
Winnie  among  the  latter.  There  was  no  overdoing  of  the 
tete-a-tete.  Among  the  colors,  the  flowers,  and  the  fun,  life 
ran  very  pleasantly. 

But  Mrs.  Lenoir  was  a  little  impatient.  Her  pet  scheme 
seemed  to  hang  fire.  She  could  not  quite  make  out  why. 
It  was  not,  she  thought,  the  other  young  men  and  women; 
there  was  no  sign  of  any  foreign  attraction  such  as  might 
induce  either  of  her  predestined  lovers  to  wander  from  the 
appointed  path.  Yet  the  Major's  advances  were,  in  her 
judgment,  painfully  deliberate,  and  Winnie's  good-fellow- 
ship with  him  was  almost  demonstratively  unsentimental. 
Mrs.  Lenoir  felt  her  experience  at  fault;  she  had  expected 

257 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS   ' 

that,  in  such  a  favorable  climate,  the  affair  would  ripen 
more  quickly.  But  there  are  ways  of  forcing  plants,  and 
she  was  a  skilful  gardener. 

One  day,  a  week  after  the  party  had  arrived  on  the  island, 
she  came  out  into  the  hotel  garden  after  lunch  and  settled 
herself,  with  the  General's  gallant  assistance,  in  a  long 
chair;  the  spot  commanded  a  view  over  the  harbor.  The 
General,  his  offices  performed,  sat  in  a  shorter  chair  and 
smoked  his  cigar.  Far  below  them  the  ramshackle,  pretty 
town  seemed  to  blink  in  the  sunshine;  a  rather  sleepy  blink- 
ing is  the  attitude  it  takes  toward  existence,  except  when  a 
tourist  ship  comes  in,  or  a  squadron  of  men-of-war.  Then 
it  sits  up  and  eats,  and  anon  sleeps  again. 

"I  suppose,  when  they  come  down  from  the  Mount, 
they'll  go  straight  to  the  casino,"  said  the  General. 

"Yes,  I  told  them  we'd  meet  them  there.     Hugh!" 

She  did  not  very  often  call  him  Hugh.  In  the  use  of  his 
name  he  was  in  the  habit  of  recognizing  some  rather  special 
call  on  his  services  or  his  attention. 

"Yes,  my  dear  Clara  ?  Now  you're  not  going  to  worry 
about  your  share  of  the  wine  again  ?" 

"No,"  said  she,  smiling,  "I'm  not.  I've  a  little  con- 
fession to  make  to  you.  I  told  you  a  fib  about  Winnie.  I 
told  you  the  fib  I  told  everybody — that  she  was  a  distant 
cousin.  She  isn't.  I  met  her  at  some  friends' — very  nice 
people.  She  was  quite  adrift.  I  asked  her  to  come  to  me 
for  a  bit,  and  we  got  on  so  well  that  she's  stayed.  She's 
an  orphan,  I  know — her  father  was  a  parson — and  I  think 
she's  quite  alone  in  the  world,  though  she  has  a  small  in- 
come." She  laughed.  "You  see  what  a  long  story  it  is. 
With  most  people  it's  so  much  easier  to  tell  the  little  fib. 
But  I've  told  you  the  truth  about  her  now."  Yet  not  all  the 

258 


JUDGMENT    ACCORDINGLY 

truth.     Mrs.  Lenoir's  conscience  seemed  sometimes  to  work 
on  easy  springs. 

"Thank  you  for  telling  me,  Clara.  I  suppose  I  know 
why  you  told  me.  But  I  think  my  boy  knows  already  that, 
if  he  has  any  designs  about  Miss  Winnie,  he'll  not  find  me 
an  obstacle.  Only  she  doesn't  seem  to  me  to  be  anything 
more  than  friendly  toward  him." 

"Well,  she'd  naturally  wait  for  a  lead,  wouldn't  she  ?" 

"You  think  it's  that  ?"  Mrs.  Lenoir's  slight  wave  of  her 
fan  was  non-committal.  "He's  a  very  conscientious  fellow. 
He  looks  at  a  thing  all  round.  I'm  sure  he'd  consider  not 
only  whether  he  liked  her,  but  whether  he  could  satisfy  her 
— whether  the  life  he  could  offer  her  would  be  to  her  liking. 
Being  a  soldier's  wife  isn't  all  beer  and  skittles.  And  getting 
on  with  all  the  regiment!" 

"Dear  me,  is  there  all  that  to  consider  ?"  Her  tone  was 
playful,  yet  rather  contemptuous.  "It  doesn't  look  as  if  he 
was  desperately  in  love." 

"Men  differ,"  mused  the  General.  "Look  at  my  three 
sons.  Bertie's  as  I  tell  you — slow  and  solid — make  an  ex- 
cellent husband  to  a  woman  of  sense.  The  Colonel  never 
looks  at  a  woman,  so  far  as  I  know.  George  runs  after 
every  petticoat  he  meets,  and  hangs  the  consequences — con- 
found him!" 

"And  which,"  asked  Mrs.  Lenoir,  "is  most  like  father, 
Hugh  ?" 

"Ancient  history,  ancient  history!"  he  murmured,  half  in 
pleasure,  half  in  contrition,  yet  with  a  glance  at  his  com- 
panion. "Shall  I  tell  him  what  you've  told  me  about 
Miss  Winnie  ?" 

"Just  as  you  like."  She  laughed.  "I  don't  think  he's 
gone  far  enough  to  have  any  rights  yet,  you  know." 

259 


MRS.    MAXON    PROTESTS 

"I  don't  think  he  has,"  agreed  the  General,  laughing  too 
— and  not  aware  of  the  bearings  of  his  admission. 

Mrs.  Lenoir,  however,  treasured  it  in  her  armory;  she 
might  have  need  of  it.  Plainly  the  General  might  consider 
that,  confession  once  begun,  confession  ought  to  have  gone 
further.  She  had  the  same  plausible  answers  she  had  given 
to  Winnie  herself.  She  had  another;  she  acknowledged 
her  own  fib,  but  she  would  plead  that  she  had  no  right  to 
betray  her  friend.  In  the  end  she  had  not  much  doubt  that 
she  could  manage  the  General.  She  had  managed  him 
before — in  a  much  more  difficult  case;  and  he  was  very  fond 
of  Winnie.  Something  of  partisanship  influenced  her  mood; 
the  free  lance  renewed  memories  of  old  raids  in  this  little 
skirmish  against  convention;  she  was  minded  to  fight  at 
the  best  advantage  she  could — with  the  father  "  contained  " 
and  the  son  as  deeply  committed  to  his  position  as  she  could 
get  him  before  the  blow  was  struck. 

As  a  result  of  this  conversation  the  General  carried  away 
an  uneasy  idea — born  of  the  confidence  so  pointedly  re- 
posed in  him,  enforced  by  the  slight  touch  of  contempt  in 
Mrs.  Lenoir's  voice — that  one  of  the  ladies,  even  possibly 
both,  considered  his  son,  if  not  a  laggard,  yet  at  least  some- 
what prosaically  circumspect  in  his  love-making.  Such  a 
view,  if  really  entertained,  did  some  injustice  to  Bertie 
Merriam.  He  was  not  impulsive;  he  was  not  passionate. 
.He  took  time  to  make  up  his  mind.  It  would  be  almost 
true  to  say  that,  before  falling  in  love,  he  made  up  his  mind 
that  he  would — not  the  commonest  order  of  events.  But 
he  had  pretty  well  made  up  his  mind  by  now.  Only,  he 
received  very  little  encouragement.  Winnie  was  always 
"jolly"  to  him;  but  she  asked  nothing  of  him,  made  no 
special  claims  on  him— and  took  the  same  liberty  as  she 

260 


JUDGMENT    ACCORDINGLY 

accorded.  In  the  pleasant  round  of  their  life  he  was  one 
comrade  among  many;  more  intimate  than  the  rest,  no 
doubt,  by  reason  of  his  habitual  escort,  the  excursions,  and 
the  messing  together  at  table,  but  not  different  in  kind. 
Vaguely  the  Major  felt  that  there  was  some  barrier,  real  but 
imperceptible,  which  he  could  not  pass — a  thing  made  up 
out  of  a  thousand  unobtrusive  trifles,  yet  composing  in 
the  mass  a  defence  that  he  could  not  see  how  to  pen- 
etrate. 

There  was  a  curious  little  man  in  the  hotel — a  man  of 
about  forty-five,  short,  bald,  shabby,  yet  clean,  though  he 
did  not  bathe.  In  fact,  he  did  nothing — no  excursions,  no 
sports,  no  dancing,  no  flirtation.  He  did  not  even  read; 
he  sat  about — meditating,  it  must  be  presumed.  Some- 
thing in  him  made  the  girls  giggle  and  the  men  wink  as  he 
passed  by;  the  men  said  "Dotty!"  and  the  girls  sniggered 
at  the  witticism.  His  name,  sought  out  in  the  hotel  register, 
proved  to  be  Adolphus  Wigram.  The  wit  who  had  made 
the  search  called  him  "Dolly" — and  the  name  became  his 
at  once,  varied  back  to  "Dotty"  sometimes  by  an  ultra- 
witticism. 

When  Winnie  came  home  from  the  casino  this  evening, 
having  some  minutes  to  spare  before  dressing  for  dinner, 
she  went  onto  the  hotel  balcony,  which  overlooks  the  town 
from  a  loftier  and,  so  to  say,  a  more  condescending  altitude 
than  the  garden.  She  rested  her  elbows  on  the  railing  and 
surveyed  the  beauty  of  the  scene,  so  artfully  composed  of 
hill  and  slope  and  sea  that  one  can  hardly  conceive  it  the 
'outcome  of  nature's  mere — and  probably  violent — caprice. 
She  was  lost  in  thought,  and  was  startled  to  find  elbows  on 
a  level  with  hers  and  a  head  in  close  neighborhood,  though 
rather  lower.  She  recognized  "  Dolly,"  in  the  shabbiest 

261 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

of  all  suits,  looking  meditatively  down  on  the  lights  of  the 
town  and  harbor  of  Funchal. 

"Quite  a  small  place,  Miss  Wilson,"  said  "Dolly." 
"Full  of  people!" 

"I  suppose  it  is,"  Winnie  agreed,  politely.  She  had 
come  out  on  the  balcony  occupied  with  another  question 
than  the  population  of  Madeira. 

"I  tried  to  understand  things  once — to  grasp  them  in 
the  large,  you  know.  Seems  easy  to  some  people,  but  I 
couldn't  do  it.  I  teach  history.  I  was  a  bit  overworked; 
some  of  my  friends  subscribed  to  send  me  out  here  for  just 
a  fortnight.  Doing  me  good." 

Winnie  turned  her  face  toward  the  funny,  jerky  little  man. 
"Are  you  going  to  grasp  things  in  the  large  when  you  get 
back  ?"  she  asked. 

"No,  no;  I'm  afraid  not.  Thirty  thousand  or  so  of 
them  down  there,  I  suppose!  All  thinking  they're  very 
important.  All  being  born  or  dying  or  love-making  or 
starving  or  filling  their  bellies,  and  so  on.  Quite  a  small 
place!" 

Winnie  smiled.  "Yes,  I  dare  say.  It  sounds  true  but 
rather  trite.  I  have  problems  of  my  own,  Mr.  Wigram." 

"So  have  I — income  and  taxation  and  necessary  expen- 
diture. Still,  these  thirty  thousand  are  interesting." 

"They're  awfully  lucky  to  want  very  few  clothes  and 
hardly  any  fires,  and  to  live  in  such  a  beautiful  place.  What 
do  you  mean  by  things  in  the  large,  Mr.  Wigram  ?" 

"Well,  I  mean  truth,"  said  the  absurd  little  man,  clutch- 
ing the  balcony  railings,  just  as  if  he  were  going  to  vault 
over  them  and  crack  his  skull  on  the  nut-shaped  stones 
which  served  for  a  path  thirty  or  forty  feet  beneath.  "Truth 
is  things  in  the  large,  you  know." 

262 


JUDGMENT   ACCORDINGLY 

"I  don't  think  I  know  that,  but  I  know  a  friend  in  Eng- 
land who  talks  rather  like  you." 

"Poor  devil!     How  much  money  does  he  make  ?" 

"He's  got  independent  means,  Mr.  Wigram." 

"Then  he  can  afford  to  talk  a  great  deal  better." 

"You  really  make  me  rather  uncomfortable.  Surely 
everybody  can  say  what  they  like  nowadays  ?" 

The  little  man  gave  an  abrupt,  hoarse  laugh.  "I  teach 
history  in  a  school,  and  get  a  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  a 
year  for  it.  Can  I  say  what  I  like  ?  Do  I  tell  the  truth 
about  the  history  ?  Oh,  dear,  no!" 

"I've  got  just  a  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  a  year.  Can 
I  do  what  I  like  ?"  asked  Winnie. 

"Dolly"  turned  to  her  with  a  queer,  ridiculous  solemnity. 
"It  seems  to  me,"  he  observed,  "a  competency  for  an  able- 
bodied  young  woman.  I  don't  know  what  you  can  do,  but 
I  think  you're  quite  in  a  position  to  tell  the  truth — if  you 
happen  to  know  it.  Anybody  dependent  on  you  ?" 

"Not  a  soul,"  smiled  Winnie. 

"I've  a  mother  and  an  unmarried  sister.  You  see  the 
difference  ?  I  think  I  heard  the  gong.  Good-evening." 

"Good-evening,  Mr.  Wigram."  Winnie  rushed  in  to 
dress  for  dinner,  pitiful,  smiling,  and  thoughtful. 

The  quartette  was  not  as  merry  as  usual  that  evening. 
Bertie  Merriam  was  rather  glum,  and  when  Winnie  per- 
ceived it  she  grew  remorseful.  Up  at  the  Mount  he  had, 
at  last,  shown  signs  of  making  a  definite  advance;  if  she 
had  not  snubbed  him,  she  had  at  least  fought  him  off  by 
affected  unconsciousness  of  his  meaning,  by  persistent  un- 
sentimentality.  It  was  almost  against  her  own  will;  she 
could  not  help  it;  the  instinct  in  her  was  irresistible.  She 
might  have  been  equal  to  standing  by  Tora  Aikenhead's 

263 


MRS.    MAXON    PROTESTS 

view — -"As  long  as  my  own  conscience  is  clear,  it's  no  affair 
of  yours  what  I  did  before  I  knew  you,  and  I  sha'n't  say  a 
word  about  it."  She  could  certainly  have  followed  Stephen's 
atavistic  "public-school"  idea  of  honor  with  perfect  readi- 
ness. These  were  both,  in  their  different  ways,  forms  of 
defiance.  But  Mrs.  Lenoir's  compromise — "I'll  wait  till 
the  truth  can't  hurt  me,  though  it  may  hurt  you" — was  not 
defiance;  it  was  deceit.  Under  the  influence  of  gratitude  to 
the  friend  to  whom  she  owed  so  much  kindness,  and  of  the 
deference  which  she  honestly  accorded  to  her  adviser's  ex- 
perience and  wisdom,  she  had  accepted  it.  All  very  well 
to  accept  it  in  words!  She  found  that  she  could  not  act 
upon  it.  Instead  of  making  Bertie  Merriam  like  her  so 
well  that  the  truth  could  be  told  to  him  without  risk — or,  at 
any  rate,  with  the  minimum  of  risk — she  was  spending  her 
time  in  trying  to  prevent  him  from  liking  her  in  that  way  at 
all.  If  she  went  on,  she  would  succeed;  he  was  sensitive, 
proud,  easy  to  discourage.  Yet,  as  things  stood,  she  knew 
that  she  would  not  be  able  to  resist  going  on.  Then  it  came 
to  this — Mrs.  Lenoir's  compromise  would  not  work.  It 
might  or  might  not  be  justifiable,  but  it  simply  would  not 
work  in  Winnie's  hands.  She  could  not  carry  it  out,  be- 
cause it  meant  in  the  end  that  she  was  to  behave  just  as 
Godfrey  Ledstone  had.  The  gravamen  of  his  offence  was 
that  he  had  been  ashamed  of  her;  now  she  was  being 
ashamed  of  herself.  He  had  conceded  to  his  family  the 
right  to  think  her  shameful;  she  was  allowing  the  same 
right  to  the  Major,  and  merely  trying  to  curry  favor  enough 
to  override  his  judgment.  Such  a  course  was  not  only 
flat  against  her  theories;  it  was  flat  against  the  nature  which 
had  produced  the  theories.  And,  in  practice,  it  resulted  in 
a  deadlock;  it  kept  the  Major  at  a  standstill.  He  did 

264 


JUDGMENT    ACCORDINGLY 

not  retreat,  because  his  feelings  dictated  an  advance.  He 
could  not  advance,  because  she  would  not  let  him.  There 
he  stuck — up  against  that  impalpable,  impenetrable  barrier. 

"I've  been  talking — out  on  the  balcony — with  that  funny 
little  man  they  call  'Dolly,'"  she  remarked.  "He  told  me 
that,  if  you  had  nobody  dependent  on  you,  and  had  a  hun- 
dred and  fifty  pounds  a  year,  you  were  in  a  position  to  tell 
the  truth." 

"Is  it  exactly  a  question  of  what  money  you've  got,  Miss 
Winnie  ?"  asked  the  General. 

She  let  the  question  pass.  "Anyhow,  that  happens  to  be 
exactly  my  income.  Rather  funny!"  She  looked  across 
the  small  table  at  Mrs.  Lenoir — and  was  not  surprised  to 
find  that  Mrs.  Lenoir  was  looking  at  her  already. 

"I  suppose  he  meant  that  if  you  weren't  absolutely 
obliged  to  get  or  keep  some  job — "  the  Major  began. 

"That's  what  he  meant;  and  there's  a  lot  in  it,  isn't  there, 
Major  Merriam  ?" 

"Well,  it's  not  what  we're  taught  at  school,  but  perhaps 
there  is." 

"More  luxuries  for  the  rich,"  smiled  Mrs.  Lenoir. 

"The  Radicals  can  make  a  new  grievance  out  of  it  at  the 
next  election,"  said  the  General. 

Of  course,  the  two  men  did  not  know  what  underlay 
Winnie's  talk.  Equally,  of  course,  Mrs.  Lenoir  did;  she 
saw  it  in  a  minute,  and  her  reading  hardly  needed  the  con- 
firmation of  Bertie's  glum  demeanor.  Winnie  was  in  re- 
bellion— probably  in  irreconcilable  rebellion.  Mrs.  Lenoir 
glanced  across  at  her  with  a  satirically  protesting  smile. 
Winnie  smiled  back,  but  her  eyes  were  resolute — rather 
merrily  resolute,  as  though  she  liked  this  new  taste  of  her 
favorite  cup  of  defiance. 

265 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

"There  are  times  and  seasons,"  said  Mrs.  Lenoir. 
"  Isn't  there  even  a  thing  called  the.  economy  of  truth  ?  I 
don't  thing  I  know  the  exact  doctrine." 

"You  wouldn't  tell  a  child  everything — or  a  fool,  either," 
observed  the  General. 

"Would  you  choose  the  wrong  time  to  tell  the  truth  to 
anybody  ?"  Mrs.  Lenoir  asked. 

"Are  you  entitled  to  settle  what's  the  right  time — all  by 
yourself?"  Winnie  retorted,  gayly.  Her  spirits  had  begun 
to  rise.  This  was  almost  like  a  discussion  at  Shaylor's 
Patch.  There  was  a  deeper  reason.  With  her  determina- 
tion had  come  a  sense  of  recovered  honesty,  and,  more, 
of  liberty  regained.  Whatever  the  Merriams  might  think, 
she  would  be  herself  again — herself  and  no  longer  Miss 
Winnie  Wilson,  a  young 'person  whom,  in  the  last  week  or  so, 
she  had  begun  to  hate  cordially. 

Winnie  did  not  go  to  the  casino  that  evening;  she  left 
the  General  and  his  son  to  walk  there  together.  She  fol- 
lowed Mrs.  Lenoir  into  the  drawing-room,  and  sat  down  by 
her. 

"So  you've  made  up  your  mind,  Winnie  ?"  Mrs.  Lenoir 
did  not  seem  angry  or  hurt.  She  merely  recognized  Winnie's 
resolution. 

"Yes.  I  can't  go  on  with  it.  And  it's  a  good  moment. 
The  newspapers  come  to-morrow,  and,  if  what  Hobart 
Gaynor  told  me  was  right,  there  '11  be  something  about  me 
in  them." 

"Yes,  I  remember.  Well,  if  you're  set  on  doing  it,  that 
doesn't  make  such  a  bad — occasion."  Mrs.  Lenoir  was 
considering  how  the  "occasion"  could  best  be  twisted  into 
a  justification  of  previous  silence.  With  the  Major  that 
would  not  be  so  much  a  pressing  question — other  factors 

266 


JUDGMENT    ACCORDINGLY 

would  probably  decide  his  action — but  it  was  a  point  that 
her  friend  the  General  might  raise.  She  looked  thought- 
fully at  Winnie.  "How  much  do  you  like  him  ?"  she  asked. 

"I  like  him  as  much  as  I  know  him,  but  I  don't  know 
him  very  much.  I  shall  know  a  little  more  to-morrow." 
She  paused.  "I  should  like  the  life,  the  whole  thing,  very 
much,  I  think." 

"She's  not  in  love,  but  she'd  take  him,"  Mrs.  Lenoir  in- 
wardly interpreted. 

"I'm  sorry  to  act  against  your  advice,  after  all  you've  done 
for  me.  It  does  look  ungrateful." 

"Oh,  I  don't  expect  people  to  give  up  their  liberty  just 
because  I'm  fond  of  them."  She  rose.  "I'm  off  to  my 
room,  my  dear.  Good-night — and  good-luck." 

Winnie  went  out  on  the  balcony  to  seek  for  Mr.  Adolphus 
Wigram  and  some  more  talk  about  truth.  But  he  was  not 
there;  he  had  gone  down  to  the  casino,  where  he  lost  exactly 
half  a  dollar  with  unbroken  bad-luck  every  night — probably 
one  of  the  things  which  the  claims  of  his  family  and  the 
figure  of  his  salary  would  cause  him  to  suppress  the  truth 
about  when  he  got  back  to  his  school.  So  she  remembered 
that  there  was  an  impromptu  dance  going  on  down-stairs, 
and  went  and  danced  and  flirted  furiously  till  midnight. 
The  girls  said  that  they  had  never  seen  Miss  Wilson  look  so 
well,  and  never  had  the  young  men  crowded  round  Miss 
Wilson  so  eagerly.  In  fact,  Miss  Wilson  had  her  fling. 
Small  blame  to  her.  It  was  the  last  night  of  her  life — at 
least,  so  far  as  that  life  had  any  real  significance.  Though 
Winnie  did  not  propose  to  change  her  name  in  the  hotel 
book  or  on  the  lips  of  casual  companions  during  her  stay  in 
Madeira,  yet  for  essential  purposes  that  night  saw  an  end  of 
Miss  Winnie  Wilson. 

18  267 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

Since  English  newspapers  arrive  in  the  island  only  once 
a  week,  the  competition  for  them  on  the  mail-day  is  formi- 
dable. Persons  who  combine  agility  and  selfishness  with  a 
healthy  interest  in  public  affairs  may  be  observed  sitting  on 
five  copies  of  their  favorite  journal,  reading  a  sixth,  and 
anon  glaring  angrily  round  at  potential  applicants  for  one 
of  the  spare  copies.  Winnie  took  no  part  in  the  scramble, 
and  attacked  nobody's  reserve  pile  of  intelligence.  She 
knew  that  her  paper  would  come  in  a  separate  wrapper, 
addressed  to  her  personally  by  Hobart  Gaynor;  she  wanted 
only  one  day's  paper. 

She  found  it  laid  by  her  plate  at  lunch — a  meal  which 
passed  in  the  discussion  of  the  news  of  the  world;  the  Major 
had  been  a  successful  competitor  in  the  struggle,  and  was 
well-primed.  Winnie  rose  when  coffee  appeared,  her  pa- 
per in  her  hand.  She  addressed  Bertie  Merriam  rather 
pointedly. 

"I'm  going  into  the  garden — that  seat  under  the  trees. 
You  know?" 

"I'll  come,  too.  Directly  I've  drunk  my  coffee."  As 
Winnie  walked  off  he  exchanged  a  glance  with  his  father. 
They  had  had  a  confidential  little  talk  at  the  casino  the 
evening  before,  in  which  Winnie's  behavior  was  the  subject 
of  some  puzzled  comment.  This  invitation  to  the  garden 
looked  more  promising.  Mrs.  Lenoir  was  busy  reading  a 
letter.  Winnie  had  read  one  letter,  too — from  Hobart 
Gaynor,  telling  her  all  she  needed  to  know,  and  referring 
her  to  a  certain  page  of  her  paper. 

Yes,  there  it  was — very  short,  matter  of  fact,  and  hard. 
Well,  what  else  should  it  be  ?  Only  it  seemed  oddly  to  re- 
produce Cyril  Maxon  himself.  The  report  sounded  as  if 
his  exact  words,  nay,  his  very  tones,  had  been  caught;  they 

268 


I    WAS    MRS.    MAXON,   THAT  S    ALL,       SAID   WINNIE 


seemed  to  echo  in  her  ears;  she  almost  heard  him  saying  it 
all.  And  what  more  appropriate,  what  so  inevitable  an 
ending  could  there  be  to  Cyril's  utterances  than  the  words 
which  closed  this  brief  record — " Judgment  accordingly"? 
Those  words  might  always  have  been  written  at  the  end  of 
Cyril's  remarks.  "Judgment  accordingly."  It  seemed  to 
sum  up,  as  well  as  to  close,  the  story  of  her  relations  with 
him.  From  the  beginning  right  through  to  this,  the  end,  on 
her  and  her  works — on  all  she  did  and  was — there  had  been 
"  Judgment  accordingly." 

She  let  the  copy  of  the  Times  fall  on  her  lap,  and  sat 
idle — waiting  for  Bertie  Merriam,  yet  not  thinking  much 
of  him.  The  figure  of  "Dolly"  shuffled  into  view.  The 
odd  little  man  was  smoking  a  cigarette,  and,  in  the  intervals 
of  puffing,  was  apparently  talking  to  himself  in  a  cheerful 
and  animated  way — no  sounds,  but  the  lips  moved  quickly. 
As  he  passed,  Winnie  hailed  him.  "Had  your  mail,  Mr, 
Wigram  ?" 

He  stopped.  "I've  had  good  news,  Miss  Wilson — good 
news  from  home.  They've  raised  my  salary." 

"Oh,  I  am  glad,  Mr.  Wigram." 

"A  twenty-pound  rise,  Miss  Wilson.  Well,  I've  done 
fifteen  years.  But  still  it's  liberal."  He  seemed  to  swell  a 
little.  "And  it's  a  recognition.  I  value  it  as  a  recogni- 
tion." The  transient  swelling  subsided.  "And  it  '11  help," 
he  ended,  soberly. 

"Shall  you  be  able  to  tell  the  truth  to  any  greater  extent, 
Mr.  Wigram  ?" 

"Oh,  I  think  not,  I  think  not.  I — I  hadn't  thought  of  it 
from  that  point  of  view,  Miss  Wilson." 

"I've  had  no  rise  in  my  income,  but  I'm  going  to  do  it." 

He  was  not  really  listening.  He  gave  a  feeble  cackle  of  a 

269 


MRS.  MAXON    PROTESTS 

laugh.  "I'm  just  making  a  few  calculations,  Miss  Wilson." 
On  he  went,  apportioning  every  penny  of  that  hard-earned 
increase  of  twenty  pounds  per  annum.  Valuable — but  not 
enough  to  enable  him  to  teach  true  history. 

Major  Merriam  sauntered  toward  her  with  his  cigar.  He 
was  really  rather  eager,  but  he  did  not  look  it.  The  invita- 
tion might  be  merely  a  tardy  apology  for  the  snubs  of  yester- 
day. 

"May  I  sit  down  by  you  ?" 

"Please  do.     Have  you  seen  the  Times?" 

"  I  looked  through  the  lot  of  them." 

"Have  you  seen  this  one — the  26th?"  She  held  up  her 
copy. 

"I  suppose  I  have.     I  had  a  run  through  them  all." 

"Read  that."     Her  finger  indicated  the  report. 

He  read  it;  the  process  did  not  take  long.  He  took  his 
cigar  out  of  his  mouth.  "Well,  Miss  Wilson?" 

"I  was  Mrs.  Maxon;  that's  all,"  said  Winnie. 


XXIII 

THE    REGIMENT 

HAD  Bertie  Merriam  displayed  righteous  indignation  or 
uncontrollable  grief,  Winnie  would  have  left  him  to 
digest  his  emotion  in  solitary  leisure.  Since,  however,  he 
merely  looked  extremely  thoughtful,  as  he  let  the  Times 
flutter  to  the  ground  and  took  a  long  pull  at  his  cigar,  it 
seemed  natural  to  tell  him  the  story.  This  she  proceeded 
to  do,  neither  boastfully  nor  apologetically,  but  with  sober 
veracity,  tempered  by  a  humorous  appreciation  of  how  the 
various  parties  to  it,  herself  included,  came  out  of  their 
various  ordeals.  Now  and  then  her  auditor  nodded  his  un- 
derstanding of  the  points — of  the  impossibility  of  life  with 
Cyril  Maxon;  of  how  Shaylor's  Patch  enlarged  the  horizon; 
of  the  experiment  with  Godfrey  Ledstone  and  its  comico- 
tragic  failure;  of  how  Maxon,  for  reasons  unascertained, 
had  found  open  to  him  a  course  which  he  had  always  de- 
clared to  be  lawfully  open  to  no  man;  finally,  of  the  con- 
siderations, sufficient  or  insufficient,  which  had  led  to  the 
incarnation  of  Miss  Winnie  Wilson.  In  fact,  so  far  as  it 
lies  within  a  human  being's  power  to  tell  the  truth  about 
himself  or  herself,  Winnie  told  it;  she  had  no  dependents 
and  she  had  a  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  a  year. 

As  has  been  said,  the  Major  was  not  an  especially  re- 
ligious man.     He  had  himself  lived  an  unusually  steady 

271 


MRS.  MAXON    PROTESTS 

and  regular  life,  keeping  himself  in  strict  training  for  the 
work  to  which  his  whole  heart  was  devoted,  but  his  moral 
ideas  were  those  of  his  class  and  generation.  He  was  not 
straitlaced.  Moreover,  he  was  heavily  biassed  in  favor 
of  the  lady  who  now  took  him  into  her  confidence,  and  not 
only  had  the  advantage  of  telling  her  side  of  the  story  with- 
out anybody  to  criticise  or  contradict,  but  succeeded  in  tell- 
ing it  so  as  to  carry  conviction  of  her  sincerity,  if  not  of  her 
wisdom.  He  was  ready  to  see  with  her  eyes,  at  least  to  the 
point  of  admitting  excuse  where  she  pleaded  justification. 
Though  he  imputed  to  her  a  great  want  of  worldly  wisdom 
in  her  dealings  with  Godfrey  Ledstone,  her  moral  character 
did  not  suffer  in  his  estimation,  nor  (what  was  perhaps  more 
remarkable)  were  .his  feelings  toward  her  perceptibly  chilled. 
Neither  did  he  cherish  any  personal  grievance.  She  was 
entitled  to  protect  herself  from  the  idle  curiosity  of  casual 
acquaintances.  So  soon  as  she  had  definite  ground  for 
according  to  him  a  special  treatment,  she  had  dealt  openly 
with  him  and  made  a  clean  breast  of  it. 

"Thank  you,"  he  said  at  the  end.  "I  shall  respect  your 
confidence." 

"What  Fve  told  you  is  meant  for  the  General,  too, 
please." 

"Thank  you  again.  It's  very  straight  of  you.  You 
must  be  glad  to  have  it  all  over  at  last  ?" 

Winnie  made  the  slightest  grimace.  "Isn't  that  rather 
a  sanguine  view  ?"  Her  own  views  about  things  being  "all 
over"  had  become  less  sanguine  than  of  yore. 

"Well,  yes,  I  suppose  it  is."  Even  while  he  had  been 
speaking  the  same  idea  was  at  the  back  of  his  own  mind. 
Things  have  a  way  of  never  getting  "  all  over,"  of  possessing 
no  absolute  ends,  of  continuing,  for  good  and  evil,  to  affect 

272 


THE    REGIMENT 

life  till  life  itself  ends — and  even,  after  that,  of  affecting 
other  lives  sometimes.  Bertie  Merriam  himself,  thought- 
fully considering,  saw  that  the  thing  was  by  no  means  "all 
over"  with  the  coming  of  the  news  contained  in  the  Times 
of  the  26th. 

"And  now,"  said  Winnie  rising  from  her  chair,  "I'm  go- 
ing to  talk  nonsense  with  the  Layton  girl  and  the  Anstruther 
boys,  and  forget  all  about  it  for  a  bit."  She  stood  looking 
at  him  for  a  moment  in  a  very  friendly,  rather  puzzled,  way. 
She  wanted  to  convey  to  him  that  she  would  consider  it  very 
natural  for  her  disclosure  to  make  all  the  difference,  but  the 
assurance  was  not  easy  to  frame  without  assuming  more 
than  she  was,  by  the  forms  of  the  game,  entitled  to  assume. 
She  got  as  near  to  it  as  she  could.  "I've  been  prepared  to 
accept  the  consequences  all  through.  If  I  claim  liberty  of 
opinion  myself,  I  allow  it  to  others,  Major  Merriam." 

"Yes,  yes,  I  quite  understand.  You  surely  don't  fear  a 
harsh  judgment  from  me  ?"  He  added,  after  the  briefest 
pause,  "  Or  from  my  father  ?" 

"I  don't  think  I  need.  You've  both  been  such  kind, 
good  friends  to  me."  She  broke  into  a  smile.  "And,  of 
course,  on  my  theory  I  don't  admit  that  I'm  properly  a  sub- 
ject of  judgment  at  all." 

"  But  you  admit  that  I  may  think  differently  if  I  like  ?" 

"Yes,  I  admit  that.  We  may  all  think  what  we  like,  and 
do  as  we  like,  so  long  as  we  do  it  sincerely." 

"Wouldn't  things  get  rather — well,  chaotic — under  that 
system  ?"  he  asked,  smiling  in  his  turn. 

"I  knew  I  shouldn't  convert  you — you  stickler  for  dis- 
cipline!" 

He  heard  the  description  with  a  laugh,  but  without  pro- 
test or  disclaimer.  To  his  ears  it  was  a  compliment.  Nor 

273 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

did  he  think  Winnie,  so  far  as  he  claimed  to  understand  her, 
quite  so  scornful  of  all  discipline  as  her  playful  taunt  implied, 
nor  in  practice  so  thoroughgoing  an  anarchist  as  her  theory 
of  the  unbridled  liberty  of  private  judgment  required  in 
logic  that  she  should  be.  She  did  not  appear  to  him  a 
naturally  lawless  woman,  nor  even  unusually  volatile.  She 
had  had  "hard  luck"  and  had  fought  against  it  blindly  and 
recklessly.  But,  given  good  conditions,  she  would  readily 
conform  to  the  standards,  since  she  would  not  want  to  do 
anything  else.  Taking  this  view,  he  saw  little  reason  to 
revise  his  judgment  or  to  alter  his  intentions,  so  far  as  the 
judgment  and  intentions  depended  on  his  estimate  of  the 
woman  herself.  Her  candor  was  even  a  new  point  in  her 
favor. 

So  far,  then,  neither  Winnie  nor  even  Mrs.  Lenoir  need 
regret  the  disclosure.  The  case,  when  fully  explained, 
seemed  to  the  Major  eminently  pardonable — at  worst,  a 
piece  of  visionary  folly  in  which  an  ignorant  young  woman 
had  rashly  matched  herself  against  the  world.  But  there 
was  another  aspect  of  the  case.  Tout  comprendre  cest  tout 
pardonner.  Perhaps.  But  some  people  shrink  from  un- 
derstanding things  for  that  very  reason;  the  consequences 
seem  too  alarming  and  even  revolutionary.  And  the  great 
bulk  of  people,  even  if  they  were  willing  to  understand  every 
case,  have  really  no  time  to  do  it;  it  cannot  be  expected  of 
them  in  this  busy  life.  They  find  themselves  obliged  to 
work  by  generalizations  and  categories,  to  bind  by  rules  and 
prohibitions  admitting  of  no  exception.  It  is  the  only  way 
by  which  people  in  a  society  can  tackle  the  job  of  estimating 
the  conduct  of  other  people,  or,  indeed,  of  regulating  their 
own.  The  world  labels  in  rows  and  pronounces  judgment 
on  squads,  an  inevitably  rough-and-ready  method,  but — 

274 


THE    REGIMENT 

the  world  pleads — the  only  practical  alternative  to  a  moral 
anarchy  against  which  it  must  protect  itself,  even  though  at 
the  cost  of  constantly  passing  the  same  sentence  on  offenders 
of  widely  different  degrees  of  criminality. 

Now  the  world,  or  society,  or  public  opinion,  or  whatever 
collective  term  may  be  used  for  that  force  to  which  all  gre- 
garious animals,  whether  they  like  it  or  not,  are  of  necessity 
amenable,  possessed  for  Major  Merriam  a  meaning  which 
was  to  him  all-important,  but  to  which  Winnie  and  Mrs. 
Lenoir  had  accorded  only  the  faintest — if,  indeed,  any — con- 
sideration; it  meant  something  not  vague  and  distant,  but 
near,  potent,  with  close  and  imperative  claims  on  him.  This 
thing  it  was  which  occupied  his  mind  as  he  walked  through 
the  garden  to  the  annex  in  which  his  father  and  he  were 
lodged,  and  where  he  would  find  the  General  reading  on  the 
veranda  until  it  should  be  time  to  go  to  the  casino.  For 
society  at  large,  for  the  moralists  or  gossips  of  London,  he 
had  not  much  regard.  He  was  not  a  prominent  man;  few 
people  would  know,  of  those  few  half  would  not  care,  and 
the  thing  would  soon  blow  over.  But  neither  his  life  nor 
his  heart  was  in  London,  and  it  was  not  about  the  feelings  or 
views  of  the  great  city  that  he  went,  with  Winnie's  copy  of  the 
Times  in  his  hand,  to  consult  his  father. 

The  General  had  been  reading,  and  was  now  dozing,  on 
the  veranda.  He  woke  up  at  the  sound  of  his  son's  step. 
"  Ready  for  the  casino,  my  boy  ?"  he  asked,  briskly. 

"Well,  I've  something  I  want  to  talk  about  first,  if  you 
don't  mind."  He  laid  the  Times  on  the  table. 

When  the  General  heard  the  story,  told  more  briefly  than 
Winnie  had  related  it,  but  with  no  loss  to  its  essential  feat- 
ures, he  conceived  a  grudge  against  Mrs.  Lenoir — Clara's 
silence,  rendered  more  deceitful  by  that  delusive  half-confi- 

275 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

dence  of  hers,  seemed  to  him  unkind — but,  as  regards  the 
prisoner  at  the  bar  herself,  his  judgment  was  even  more 
lenient  than  his  son's,  as  perhaps  might  be  expected  from 
his  more  various  experience.  The  thing  was  annoying,  dis- 
tinctly annoying,  but  he  liked  Winnie  none  the  less.  The 
poor  girl  had  been  in  a  fix! 

"However,  it's  really  not  our  business  to  judge  her,"  he 
concluded,  looking  across  at  his  son.  "We've  got  nothing 
to  do  with  that.  That's  for  her  and  her  own  conscience." 

"She's  had  devilish  hard  luck,"  said  Bertie. 

"Yes,  she  has.  Heavens,  my  boy!  who  am  I  to  be  hard 
on  her  ?" 

The  Major  gazed  out  over  the  garden.  "As  far  as  I'm 
concerned  myself,  I'd  take  the  chances  and  go  on  with  it." 
He  knew  that  his  father  would  understand  what  he  meant 
by  "it." 

"Well,  well,  there  are  things  to  consider — " 

Bertie  turned  sharply  round  again.  Conviction  rang  in 
his  voice  as  he  interrupted:  "By  Jove,  there  are!  There's 
the  regiment!" 

The  General  pursed  up  his  lips  and  gave  two  quick 
little  nods  of  his  head.  "Yes.  In  a  few  months  you'll  be 
in  command." 

"It  might  not  get  out,  of  course.  There's  always  that 
chance." 

"Next  year  you  go  to  India.    Everything  gets  out  in  India." 

"Of  course,  if  people  could  be  got  to  understand  the  case 
as  we  do — " 

"Don't  you  build  on  that,  Bertie.  The  mere  fact  of 
this" — he  tapped  the  Times — "will  be  all  they  want;  take 
my  word  for  it.  They  wouldn't  make  things  comfortable 
for  her." 

276 


THE    REGIMENT 

For  the  moment,  at  least,  Bertie's  mind  was  not  on  that 
point;  it  was  directed  toward  the  subject  on  which  he  had 
once  discoursed  to  Winnie  herself — the  influence  which  the 
wife  of  a  commanding  officer  does  and  ought  to  exercise  on 
the  tone  of  the  small  society  over  which  she  is  naturally 
called  upon  to  exercise  a  sort  of  presidency.  "Would  it  be 
good  for  the  regiment  ?" 

The  General  wore  a  mournful  air  as  he  took  out  and 
lighted  a  long,  lean  cheroot.  He  did  not  look  at  Bertie  as 
he  murmured,  "Must  consider  that,  in  your  position." 

Certainly  that  had  to  be  considered;  for  here  the  two 
men  touched  what  was  their  real  effective  religion — the 
thing  which  in  truth  shaped  their  lives,  to  which  they  were 
both  loyal  and  uncompromising  adherents,  in  regard  to 
which  the  son  was  almost  a  fanatic.  What  was  important 
to  the  regiment  was  of  vital  importance  to  Bertie  Merriam 
and  to  his  life's  work.  One  of  the  things  important  to  the 
regiment  was  the  wives  of  its  officers;  most  important  was 
their  influence  on  the  "young  chaps" — as  he  had  said  to 
Winnie.  It  ought  to  be,  if  not  motherly,  at  least  "elder- 
sisterly."  Viewed  in  this  connection,  there  was  evidently 
matter  for  consideration,  assuming  that  everything  got  out 
in  India,  as  according  to  the  General  it  did.  To  present  to 
the  "young  chaps"  such  an  "elder  sister"  as  Winnie — cer- 
tainly consideration  was  needed. 

Later  in  the  afternoon  Mrs.  Lenoir  sat  in  a  wicker  chair 
on  the  casino  terrace  which  overlooks,  from  a  respectable 
and  precipitous  height,  the  roadstead  and  the  sea.  She  had 
spent  a  lonely  afternoon;  she  had  seen  none  of  her  three 
friends,  and  by  herself  had  drifted  down  to  a  solitary  cup  of 
tea  at  this  resort,  which  she  was  at  the  moment  feeling  to 
be  insecurely  entitled  to  be  called  one  of  pleasure.  She  had 

277 


MRS.  MAXON    PROTESTS 

an  instinct  that  something  was  happening,  that  things  were 
being  settled  behind  her  back.  The  feeling  made  her  fret- 
ful; when  she  was  fretful  the  lines  on  her  face  showed  a 
deeper  chiselling.  And  by  a  very  human  instinct,  because 
she  thought  that  her  friend  the  General  was  going  to  be 
angry  with  her,  she  began  to  get  angry  with  him — so  as  not 
to  start  the  quarrel  at  a  disadvantage.  They  were  making 
a  fuss;  now  what  in  Heaven's  name  was  there  to  make  a  fuss 
about?  Hugh  to  make  a  fuss !  A  smile  more  acrid,  less  kind 
than  usual  bent  Mrs.  Lenoir's  lips;  it  made  her  look  older. 

Suddenly,  without  seeing  where  he  came  from,  she  found 
the  General  beside  her — rather  a  stiff  General,  raising  his 
hat  very  ceremoniously.  "You've  had  your  tea,  Clara? 
May  I  sit  down  by  you  ?" 

"Yes,  I've  had  my  tea,  thank  you.     And  you  ?" 

"No,  thank  you.  I — in  fact,  I've  had  a  whiskey-and- 
soda." 

The  indulgence  was  unusual.  It  confirmed  Mrs.  Lenoir's 
instinct. 

"Where's  Bertie?" 

"  He's  gone  for  a  walk  to  Camara  de  Lobos." 

The  instinct  was  proved  infallibly  correct.  A  stride  along 
the  one  level  road — clearly  a  case  of  mental  disturbance 
needing  physical  treatment! 

The  General  sat  down.  He  was  not  even  smoking;  he 
rested  the  big  silver  knob  of  his  stick  against  his  lips.  She 
looked  at  him  out  of  the  corner  of  her  eye.  Oh  yes,  cer- 
tainly yes! 

When  he  spoke,  it  was  abruptly.  "I  don't  know  exactly 
how  long  you  mean  to  stay  here,  Clara,  but  I'm  afraid  Bertie 
and  I  must  take  the  next  boat  home.  We  must  get  back 
to  London." 

278 


THE    REGIMENT 

"Who's  inconsolable  in  London?" 
"I've  had  a  letter  which  makes  it  advisable — 
"Oh,  nonsense!"     She  did  not  disguise  her  impatience. 
"She's  told  him,  has  she?" 

"  I  don't  think  you've  treated  me  quite  fairly." 
The  sun   began   to   sink   below  the   promontory  which 
bounded  the  view  on  the  right.     The  growing  sombreness 
of  the  atmosphere  seemed  to  spread  over  Mrs.  Lenoir's  face. 
Her  voice  was  hard,  too,  when  she  spoke. 

"I've  treated  you  absolutely  fairly.  You  men  always 
want  to  play  with  your  cards  held  up  and  ours  down  on  the 
table.  That's  the  masculine  idea  of  an  even  game!  Oh,  I 
know  it!  For  my  part  I  think  she's  silly  to  have  told  him  so 
soon.  I  wouldn't  have.  And  so  she's  not  good  enough  for 
him,  isn't  she  ?" 

Mrs.  Lenoir  had  certainly  done  well  to  whip  up  her  anger. 
It  enabled  her  to  deliver  the  assault  and  forestall  the 
General's  more  deliberate  offensive  movement.  Also  by  her 
plainness  she  exposed  ruthlessly  her  friend's  tactful  inven- 
tion of  a  letter  from  London  making  it  advisable  for  him 
and  his  son  to  take  the  next  boat  back  to  England. 

"It's  not  quite  a  question  of  that,"  said  the  General,  his 
pale-brown  old  cheek  flushing  under  the  roughness  of  her 
scornful  words.  "You  know  how  much  I  like  her,  and  how 
much  Bertie  likes  her,  too.  But  we  must  look  facts  in  the 
face — take  things  as  they  are,  Clara.  It's  not  so  much  a 
matter  of  his  own  feelings.  There's  the  regiment." 

Mrs.  Lenoir  grew  more  annoyed — because  she  perceived 
in  a  flash  that,  old  student  of  men  as  she  was,  she  had  neg- 
lected an  important  factor  in  the  case.  Being  annoyed,  and 
being  a  woman,  she  hit  out  at  the  other  women  who,  as  she 
supposed,  stood  in  her  way. 

279 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

"A  parcel  of  nobodies,  in  a  garrison  or  cantonment  some- 
where!" Whatever  the  judgment  on  her  life,  she  was 
always  conscious  that  she  herself  had  been  famous. 

"I  suppose  you're  referring  to  the  women?  I  wasn't 
thinking  so  much  of  them.  It  'd  be  sure  to  get  out,  and  it 
wouldn't  do  with  the  youngsters." 

She  turned  to  him  almost  fiercely,  but  his  next  words 
struck  a  new  note. 

"  And  it  'd  prejudice  my  boy's  career,  Clara." 

The  sun  had  set.  There  was  an  interval  of  cold  light 
before  the  glories  of  the  afterglow.  Mrs.  Lenoir's  face 
looked  wan  and  hard.  "Yes,  it  would  follow  them  all  over 
the  world,"  she  said.  "Now  a  mail  ahead  of  them,  now  a 
mail  behind — always  very  close.  Yes,  the  women  would 
chatter  and  lift  their  skirts;  the  old  men  would  snigger  and 
the  youngsters  make  jokes.  Is  there  anything  at  all  to 
choose  between  us,  Hugh — between  you  men  and  us  women  ? 
Anything  at  all  ?" 

He  would  not  enter  on  that.  "You  don't  quite  under- 
stand. I  may  think  about  his  interest — well,  I'm  his  father, 
and  he's  my  eldest,  He  sees  it  in  the  light  of  his  duty  to  the 
Service." 

"My  poor  little  Winnie!"  Gradually  the  afterglow  was 
coming  and  seemed  to  soften  the  hard  lines  of  her  face. 

"You  know  I — why,  I  fairly  love  her  myself!"  His  voice 
trembled  for  a  moment.  "Pretty  nearly  as  much,  I  believe, 
in  the  end,  as  the  boy  does.  But — could  I  tell  him  any- 
thing different  ?  I'd  give  a  year's  pay  not  to  hurt  her 
feelings." 

"  A  year's  pay!  You  old  goose,  Hugh!  You'd  give  your 
life — but  you  wouldn't  give  one  button  off  the  tunic  of  one 
of  the  soldiers  in  vour  blessed  regiment."  She  held  out  her 

280 


THE    REGIMENT 

hand  to  him,  smiling  under  misty  eyes.  "You  men  are 
queer,"  she  ended. 

After  a  stealthy  look  round,  the  General  raised  her  hand 
to  his  lips.  They  were  friends  again,  and  he  was  glad. 
Yet  she  would  not  forego  her  privilege  of  ridicule  and  irony 
— the  last  and  only  weapon  of  the  conquered. 

"I  don't  know  that  anything  need  be  said — " 

"So  you  two  valiant  soldiers  have  decided  that  I  had 
better  say  it  ?"  she  interrupted. 

"How  could  either  of  us  so  much  as  hint  that  she — that 
she  was  the  least  interested  in  our  movements  ?" 

"Not  even  in  your  retreats  ?  Oh,  I'll  tell  her  you're  going 
by  the  next  boat.  Nearly  a  week  off",  though,  isn't  it?" 
She  hinted  maliciously  that  the  week  might  be  difficult — 
even  dangerous.  Whether  it  would  be  depended  on  how 
Winnie  took  their  decision.  Mrs.  Lenoir's  unregenerate 
impulse  would  have  been  to  make  that  week  rather  trying  to 
the  Major,  had  she  been  in  Winnie's  place.  By  being  dis- 
agreeable to  him  ?  No,  she  would  have  found  a  better  way 
than  that. 

A  merry  laugh  sounded  from  the  door  of  the  casino. 
Winnie  was  there,  in  animated  conversation  with  the  An- 
struther  boys.  A  great  event  had  happened,  calculated 
to  amuse  the  whole  hotel.  "Dolly"  had  come  down  with 
his  usual  half-dollar — and  had  lost  it  as  usual.  He  walked 
round  the  room,  then  up  and  down  the  concert-room  ad- 
joining. He  went  to  the  other  table;  he  came  back  to  the 
one  at  which  he  had  played.  He  fidgeted  about,  behind 
the  second  Anstruther  boy,  for  some  minutes.  Then  he 
fished  out  another  half-  dollar,  and  put  it  on  a  single 
number  —  twenty!  Could  Winnie,  his  confidant,  doubt 
what  was  in  his  mind  ?  The  number  twenty  was  the  gage 

281 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

of  Dame  Fortune;  he  would  wear  it  on  his  sleeve!  Number 
twenty  came  up;  the  little  man,  with  a  quick  gasp  for 
breath,  pounced  on  his  handful  of  money. 

"Well,  any  of  us  may  win  after  that!"  said  the  elder 
Anstruther  boy,  who  had  been  strongly  for  the  view  that 
Mr.  Wigram  was  a  "hoodoo"  to  the  whole  hotel. 

With  rapid  yet  gracious  dexterity  Winnie  got  rid  of  her 
companions.  She  had  caught  sight  of  the  General's  tall 
figure  as  he  left  Mrs.  Lenoir's  side.  She  came  down  to  her 
friend's  chair  and  laid  a  hand  on  her  shoulder. 

"Not  cold?"  Mrs.  Lenoir  shook  her  head.  "Well,  let's 
go  home,  anyhow,  shall  we  ?  I've  had  a  long  afternoon  with 
those  boys — I'm  tired." 

"Sit  down  for  a  minute,  child.  So  you  let  the  cat  out  of 
the  bag?" 

"  I  told  you  I  had  to.  Has  he  been  here  ?  I  haven't  seen 
him." 

"  Bertie  ?  No — only  the  General.  Bertie's  gone  for  a 
walk  by  himself.  But,  before  he  went,  he  told  the,  Gen- 
eral." 

"Well  ?"  Winnie  was  drawing  on  the  gloves  she  had 
taken  off  to  count  out  her  money  in  the  room. 

"They're  going  home  by  the  next  boat."  Winnie  gave 
no  sign,  made  no  movement.  "A  letter  from  London — if 
you  want  to  observe  the  usual  fiction."  Her  malice,  her 
desire  that  her  sex  should  fight  for  itself  and  avenge  its  in- 
juries, twinkled  in  her  eyes  again.  "But  they  can't  go  till 
Tuesday!" 

Winnie's  eyes  turned  out  to  sea.  "Tuesday,  or  Tuesday 
twelvemonth — what  difference  does  it  make  ?"  She  gave  a 
little  sigh;  she  had  liked  the  idea  of  it — of  the  life  it  meant, 
of  seeing  the  world,  of  a  fresh  start,  of  his  great  courtesy  and 

282 


THE    REGIMENT 

kindness.  "I  don't  think  that  we  need  consider  ourselves 
responsible  for  a  broken  heart,"  she  added,  suddenly. 

"No,  but  he'd  have  gone  on,  even  after  you  told  him." 
Her  voice  took  on  its  ironical  inflexion.  "He'd  have  gone 
on  but  for  the  regiment." 

Winnie  had  been  leaning  back  in  her  chair.  She  sat  up 
straight,  almost  with  a  jerk.  "Gone  on  but  for  what  ?"  she 
asked,  in  a  tone  of  genuine  amazement. 

Mrs.  Lenoir's  acrid  smile  penetrated  the  twilight.  After 
a  moment's  blank  staring,  Winnie's  parted  lips  met  in  a 
smile  too.  To  both  of  them,  in  the  end,  it  seemed  funny — 
rather  unaccountable. 

"The  regiment,  Winnie!"  Mrs.  Lenoir  repeated,  as  she 
rose  from  her  seat. 

"It  really  never  entered  my  head,"  said  Winnie. 

19 


XXIV 

AN    ENLIGHTENMENT 

IT  might  well  seem  that  by  now  Winnie  would  have 
become  accustomed  to  the  discovery  that  things  which 
had  never  entered  her  head  might  none  the  less  occupy  a 
large  and  unassailable  position  in  the  heads  of  other  people 
— nay,  that  she  might,  for  safety's  sake,  allow  for  the  likeli- 
hood of  such  a  revelation  when  she  laid  plans  or  embarked 
on  a  course  of  conduct.  But,  in  fact,  this  would  be  asking 
her  to  have  learned  very  early  a  very  hard  lesson.  It  was 
not  as  if  there  were  only  one  or  two  of  these  entrenched  con- 
victions; fresh  ones  leaped,  as  it  were,  from  ambush  at 
every  step  of  her  advance,  at  every  stage  of  her  pilgrimage, 
and  manifested  a  strength  on  which  she  had  not  calculated, 
for  which  the  airy  and  untrammelled  flight  of  Shaylor's 
Patch  speculation  had  not  prepared  her.  It  was  all  very  well 
for  her  to  declare  that  she  accorded  to  others  the  freedom 
of  thought  and  opinion  which  she  claimed  for  herself.  Of 
course  she  did;  but  the  others  made  such  odd  uses  of  their 
liberty!  Maxon's  point  of  view,  Dick  Dennehy's  point  of 
view,  Woburn  Square's  point  of  view,  Bob  Purnett's  point  of 
view  (his — and  Godfrey  Ledstone's!) — let  these  be  taken  as 
mastered  and  appreciated.  Between  them  they  had  seemed 
to  cover  the  ground  pretty  completely,  to  comprehend  all 
the  objections  which  could  be  raised  by  standards  religious, 

284 


AN    ENLIGHTENMENT 

social,  or  merely  habitual.  But  no.  Here  was  a  man  who 
was  willing,  for  himself,  to  waive  all  the  usual  objections, 
but  suddenly  produced  a  new  cult,  an  esoteric  worship,  a 
tribal  fetish  of  his  own,  evidently  a  very  powerful  fetish,  to 
be  propitiated  by  costly  sacrifices,  which  he  regarded  him- 
self as  obviously  necessary,  and  had  no  doubt  would  be 
easily  understood  by  other  people. 

"  How  could  I  be  expected  to  think  of  the  regiment  ?" 
asked  Winnie,  pathetically.  "  I  declare  I  thought  of  every- 
thing else — that's  why  I  told  him.  He  doesn't  mind  all 
the  great  world,  but  he  does  mind  half  a  dozen  women  and 
a  dozen  boys  somewhere  in  India!  People  are  queer,  aren't 
they,  Mrs.  Lenoir  ?" 

But  by  now  Mrs.  Lenoir  had  been  schooled;  talks  with 
both  father  and  son  had  made  her  understand  better,  and, 
since  the  thing  had  to  be  thus,  it  was  desirable  that  Winnie 
should  understand  also. 

"Well,  Winnie,  that  may  be  all  his  regiment  is  to  you — a 
pack  of  women  and  boys  in  India;  indeed  that's  pretty 
much  what  I  called  it  myself.  But,  in  justice  to  Bertie,  we 
must  remember  that  to  him  it's  a  great — a  great — " 

"  A  great  what  ?"  Winnie  was  looking  malicious  over  her 
friend's  hesitation. 

"Well,  a  great  institution,"  Mrs.  Lenoir  ended,  rather 
lamely. 

"An  institution!  Yes!"  Winnie  nodded  her  head. 
"That's  it — and  I'm  absolutely  fated  to  run  up  against  insti- 
tutions. They  wait  for  me,  they  lie  in  hiding,  they  lurk 
round  corners.  And  what  a  lot  of  them  there  are,  to  break 
one's  shins  over!" 

"They  all  come  back  to  one  in  the  end,  I  think,"  said  Mrs. 
Lenoir,  smiling.  She  was  glad  to  hear  Winnie's  philoso- 

285 


MRS.  MAXON    PROTESTS 

phizing.  It  was  a  fair  proof  that  neither  here  was  there  a 
broken  heart,  though  there  might  be  some  disappointment 
and  vexation.  "I  was  very  hurt  at  first,"  she  went  on,  "and 
it  made  me  rude  to  the  General.  It's  no  use  being  hurt  or 
angry,  Winnie.  We  bring  it  on  ourselves,  if  we  choose  to 
go  our  own  way.  Whether  it's  worth  taking  the  conse- 
quences— that's  for  each  of  us  to  decide." 

"Worth  it  a  thousand  times  in  my  case,"  said  Winnie. 
"All  the  same  I  didn't  in  the  least  understand  what  it  would 
be  like.  Only — now  I  do  understand — I'm  going  to  face  it. 
Fancy  if  I'd  had  fewer  scruples,  and  effected  a  furtive  en- 
trance into  the  regiment!  What  mightn't  have  happened  ?" 

Three  days  had  elapsed  from  the  date  of  Winnie's  con- 
fession to  the  Major;  they  had  changed  the  relative  attitudes 
of  the  two  women.  Mrs.  Lenoir  had  got  over  her  disap- 
pointment and  returned  to  her  usual  philosophy,  her  habitual 
recognition  of  things  as  they  were,  her  understanding  that 
with  men  their  profession  and  their  affairs  must  come  first. 
Winnie  had  hardened  toward  her  late  suitor.  Ready  to  be 
rejected  on  her  own  account,  she  could  not  bring  herself  to 
accept  rejection  on  account  of  the  regiment  with  meekness. 
After  the  great  things  she  had  defied,  the  regiment  seemed 
a  puny  antagonist.  All  the  same,  little  thing  as  it  was,  a 
mere  dwarf  of  an  institution  compared  with  her  other  giant 
antagonists,  it,  not  they,  now  vanquished  her;  it,  not  they, 
now  held  Bertie  Merriam  back. 

It  must  be  confessed  that  she  behaved  rather  maliciously 
during  the  days  when  the  two  officers  were  waiting  for  their 
ship.  An  exaggerated  interest  in  the  affairs  of  the  regiment, 
an  apparently  ingenuous  admiration  of  the  wonderful  esprit 
de  corps  of  the  British  service,  earnest  inquiries  as  to  the 
means  by  which  the  newly  promoted  Commanding  Officer 

286 


AN    ENLIGHTENMENT 

hoped  to  maintain  a  high  moral  tone  among  his  subalterns 
— these  were  the  topics  with  which  she  beguiled  the  hours  of 
lunch  and  dinner.  The  Major  wriggled,  the  General 
looked  grave  and  pained;  Mrs.  Lenoir  affected  to  notice 
nothing,  for  she  saw  that  her  young  friend  was  for  the 
moment  out  of  hand  and  only  too  ready  to  quarrel  with  them 
all.  For  the  rest,  Miss  Wilson — whose  artificial  existence 
was  to  end  when  she  got  on  the  steamer  for  Genoa — flirted 
with  the  Anstruther  boys  and  lost  her  money  gambling. 

So  time  went  on  till  the  eve  of  the  departure  of  father  and 
son.  At  dinner  that  night  Winnie  was  still  waywardly  gay 
and  gayly  malicious;  when  the  meal  was  over  she  ran  off 
into  the  garden  and  hid  herself  in  a  secret  nook.  The 
Anstruther  boys  sought  her  in  vain,  and  discontentedly  re- 
paired to  the  casino.  But  there  was  a  more  persistent 
seeker. 

She  was  roused  from  some  not  very  happy  meditations  by 
finding  Bertie  Merriam  standing  opposite  to  her.  He  did 
not  apologize  for  his  intrusion  nor,  on  the  other  hand,  ask 
leave  to  sit  by  her;  he  stood  there,  looking  gravely  at  her. 

"Why  do  you  take  a  pleasure  in  making  me  unhappy?" 
he  asked.  "Why  do  you  try  to  make  me  look  ridiculous, 
and  feel  as  if  I'd  done  something  ungentlemanly  ?  I'm  not 
ridiculous,  and  I'm  not  aware  of  having  done  anything  un- 
gentlemanly. The  subject  is  a  very  difficult  one  for  me 
even  to  touch  on  with  you;  but  I'm  acting  from  honest 
motives  and  on  an  honest  conviction." 

Winnie  looked  up  in  a  moody  hostility.  "Whenever  I've 
acted  from  honest  motives  and  on  honest  convictions,  people 
have  all  combined  to  make  me  unhappy,  Major  Merriam." 

"I'm  sincerely,  deeply  sorry  for  that,  and  I  don't  defend 
it.  Still,  the  cases  are  not  the  same." 

287 


MRS.  MAXON    PROTESTS 

"Why  aren't  they?" 

"Because  you  wanted  to  do  what  you  did.  No  doubt 
you  were  convinced  you  had  the  right,  but  you  wanted 
to,  besides.  Now  I  don't  want  to  do  what  I'm  doing. 
That's  the  difference.  I  want  it  less  and  less  every  hour  I 
spend  with  you — in  spite  of  your  being  so  disagreeable." 
He  smiled  a  little  over  the  last  words. 

Winnie  looked  at  him  in  curiosity.  What  was  he  going 
to  say  ? 

"You're  not  consistent.  You  say  you  like  people  to  act 
up  to  their  convictions;  you  feel  wronged  when  people 
blame  you  for  acting  up  to  your  convictions.  Yet  you 
punish  me  for  acting  up  to  mine.  Will  you  let  me  put  the 
thing  before  you  frankly — since  we're  to  part,  probably  for 
good,  to-morrow  ?" 

"Yes,  you  can  say  what  you  like — since  we're  to  part 
to-morrow." 

"Mine  isn't  the  absurd  idea  you  think  it  is,  and  I'm  not 
the  grandmother  you  try  to  make  me  out.  I'm  going  to  be 
called  on  to  serve  the  King  in  a  position  of  great  respon- 
sibility, where  my  example  and  my  standards  will  affect 
many  lives.  I  must  be  true  to  my  responsibilities  as  I  see 
them.  If  I  did  what  my  feelings  incline  me  to  do — pray 
believe  that  I  assume  nothing  as  to  yours — I  shouldn't  be 
true  to  them.  Because  in  the  regiment  you  wouldn't  be 
understood — neither  your  position  nor  your  convictions. 
What  do  most  officers'  wives,  and  what  do  most  young  men 
in  the  army,  know  about  the  sort  of  society  or  the  sort 
of  speculations  which  produce  convictions  like  yours  ? 
They  would  neither  understand  nor  appreciate  them.  And 
if  they  didn't — well,  what  opinion  must  they  hold  about 
you  ?  And  what  effect  would  that  opinion  have  ?  I  don't 

288 


AN    ENLIGHTENMENT 

speak  of  your  position — that  would  be  for  you  to  consider 
— but  what  effect  would  it  have  on  my  position  and  my 
influence  ?" 

"  They'd  just  put  me  down  as  an  ordinary — an  ordinary 
bad  woman  ?" 

"Let's  say  the  ordinary  case  of  a  woman  who  has  made 
a  scandal.  Because  I  agree  with  you  in  thinking  that  such 
a  woman  needn't  be  a  bad  woman.  But  even  when  she's 
not  bad  she  may  in  certain  positions  be  injurious  to  the 
commonwealth — and  a  regiment's  a  commonwealth.  I'm 
not  clever,  as  my  brother  is.  I'm  not  likely  ever  to  get  a 
bigger  job  than  this.  It  '11  be  the  most  important  trust  I 
shall  get,  I  expect.  I  want  to  be  loyal  to  it.  I'm  being 
loyal  to  it  at  a  great  cost  to  me — yes,  a  great  cost  now.  And 
you  try  to  make  me  look  ridiculous!  Well,  let  that  pass. 
Only,  feeling  as  I  do,  I  want  to  put  myself  right  in  your  eyes, 
before  we  say  good-bye." 

"I'm  sorry  I  tried  to  make  you  look  ridiculous.  Is  that 
enough,  Major  Merriam  ?" 

"It's  something,"  he  smiled.  "But  couldn't  you  go  so 
far  as  not  to  think  me  ridiculous  ?" 

"Have  I  got  to  think  the  officers'  wives  and  the  subalterns 
not  ridiculous,  too  ?" 

"I  can  leave  that  to  your  later  reflections.  They're  not 
going  to  part  from  you  to-morrow,  and  they  don't  care  so 
much  about  your  good  opinion." 

"No,  I  don't  think  you  ridiculous  any  more."  She 
spoke  now  slowly  and  thoughtfully.  ''I  didn't  understand. 
I  see  better  what  you  mean  and  feel  now.  Only  under- 
standing other  people  doesn't  make  the  world  seem  any 
easier!  But  I  think  I  do  understand.  The  King  pays  you 
for  your  life,  and  you're  bound  to  give  it,  not  only  in  war, 

289 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

if  that's  required  of  you,  but  in  peace,  too — is  it  something 
like  that  ?" 

"Yes,  that's  the  sort  of  thing  it  is.     Thank  you." 

"And  you  mustn't  do  anything  that  makes  the  life  he's 
bought  less  valuable  to  him  either  in  war  or  peace  ?" 

"Yes,  that's  it,  too."  He  smiled  at  her  more  happily 
now,  and  in  a  great  kindness. 

"In  fact,  you've  sold  yourself  right  out  and  quite  irrev- 
ocably ?" 

"Ah,  well,  that's  not  quite  the  way  I  should  put  it.  We 
Merriams  have  always  done  it." 

"Hereditary  slaves!"  smiled  Winnie.  "It's  really  rather 
like  marriage,  as  Cyril  conceived  it.  You  mustn't  have 
another  wife.  The  regiment's  yours.  It  would  be  bigamy!" 

"Charming  people  can  talk  great  nonsense,"  the  Major 
made  bold  to  observe.  He  was  rather  chilled  again. 

"We're  veering  round  in  this  discussion.  Now  you're 
making  out  that  I'm  ridiculous!" 

He  made  a  gesture  of  protest.  Winnie  laughed.  "Six 
days  ago  I  didn't  care  particularly  about  you,  but  I  should 
have  married  you  if  you'd  asked  me." 

"  So  you  told  me  why  I'd  better  not  ask  you  ?     Yes  ?" 

"Now  I  like  you  very  particularly,  but  nothing  on  earth 
would  induce  me  to  marry  you,"  said  Winnie.  She  shot  a 
quick  glance  of  raillery  at  him.  "So,  if  you're  struggling, 
you  needn't  struggle." 

"I  am  struggling,  rather,  Winnie." 

"To-morrow  ends  it." 

"Yes,  but  what's  going  to  happen  to  you  ?" 

"That's  become  rather  more  difficult  to  answer  than  it 
used  to  be."  She  rose  from  her  chair.  "  But  now  I'm  going 
in,  to  beg  the  General's  pardon  for  having  been  so  naughty." 

290 


AN    ENLIGHTENMENT 

She  stood  there  before  him,  slim,  almost  vague  in  the  soft 
darkness.  Her  black  gown  was  a  darker  spot  on  the  gloom; 
her  face  and  shoulders  gleamed  white,  her  brows  and  the 
line  of  her  red  lips  seemed  black,  and  black,  too,  the  eyes 
with  which  she  regarded  him,  half-loving,  still  half-ridicul- 
ing, from  across  the  gulf  that  parted  them.  He  made  a 
quick,  impulsive  step  toward  her,  putting  out  his  arms.  It 
seemed  to  him  that  hers  came  out  to  meet  them;  at  least, 
she  did  not  retreat.  With  a  sigh  and  a  shiver  she  yielded 
herself  to  his  embrace.  "I'm  half  sorry  it's  so  utterly  im- 
possible all  round,"  she  whispered. 

After  his  passionate  kiss  the  man  let  her  go  and  drew 
back.  "Now  I'm  thoroughly  ashamed  of  myself,"  he  said. 

"Oh,  my  dear,  you  needn't  be.  Here  we  are,  two  small, 
puzzled  things,  together  on  this  beautiful  night  for  just  a 
little  while,  and  then  a  long  way  from  each  other  forever! 
And  we've  done  nothing  very  dreadful.  Just  what  you  like 
in  me  has  kissed  me,  and  just  what  I  like  in  you  has  kissed 
you,  and  wished  you  godspeed,  and  been  sorry  for  the 
trouble  I've  made,  and  told  you  how  much  I  hope  for  you 
and  your  dear  regiment.  I'm  glad  you  did  it,  and  I'm  glad 
I  did  it.  Surely  it  makes  us  friends  for  always  that  our  lips 
have  met  like  that  ?" 

"I'll  give  it  all  up  if  you  ask  me,  Winnie." 

"No,  no.  I've  been  learning  to  think  how  one  will  feel 
about  things  to-morrow.  Forget  you  said  that.  You  don't 
really  mean  it." 

He  stood  silent  for  a  moment.  "No,  I  didn't  really  mean 
it.  I  beg  your  pardon." 

"  I  bear  you  no  malice.  I  liked  you  to  think  it  for  just 
a  minute.  It's  all  over."  She  smiled  reassuringly.  "But 
I  shall  remember — and  like  to  remember.  Everything  of 

291 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

me  won't  leave  you,  nor  everything  of  you  leave  me  now, 
to-morrow — not  absolutely  everything.  Well,  it  never  does, 
with  people  you've  met  intimately,  I  think.  But  what  you 
leave  to  me  is  all  good.  I  was  getting  hard.  This  glimpse 
of  you  as  you  really  are  has  stopped  it.  Dear  friend,  kiss 
me  once  again,  and  so  good-bye." 

Very  gently  now  he  kissed  her  lips  again — for  it  was  her 
lips  she  gave  him  in  a  perfect  confidence. 

"Let's  go  in  now,"  said  Winnie,  putting  her  arm  through 
his. 

They  sauntered  slowly  through  the  fragrant  garden.  The 
night  was  still;  no  envious  wind  disturbed  the  island's  rest. 
Merriam,  deeply  moved,  but  now  master  of  himself,  did  not 
speak,  but  once  or  twice  gently  pressed  the  hand  that  lay 
on  his  arm.  With  Winnie  there  was  a  sense  of  sadness, 
yet  also  of  peace.  She  had  made  a  friend,  and  now  was 
to  lose  him — yet  not  wholly.  And,  in  winning  him,  she 
had  won  back  herself  also,  and  had  done  with  the  Miss 
Wilson  who  had  been  flouting  and  flirting  these  last  few 
days,  with  intentions  none  too  kind  and  manners  none  too 
good;  she  was  again  trying  to  understand  to  be  fair,  to  strike 
a  true  balance  between  herself  and  other  people. 

"You're  very  different  from  the  others,"  she  said,  sud- 
denly; "but,  somehow,  you're  helping  me  to  be  more  just 
to  them,  too."  She  gave  a  little  sigh.  "But  justice  is  most 
awfully  difficult.  It's  really  much  more  comfortable  to  be- 
lieve that  there's  absolutely  nothing  to  be  said  for  people. 
You  believe  that  about  a  lot  of  people,  don't  you  ?  You'd 
believe  it  about  my  friend  Dick  Dennehy,  I  expect,  who 
wants  to  have  Ireland  independent,  and  to  destroy  the 
monarchy,  and  put  down  the  army  and  navy,  and  all  that 
sort  of  thing.  Yet  he's  one  of  the  greatest  gentlemen." 

292 


AN    ENLIGHTENMENT 

"Then  I'd  hang  him,  but  I'd  shake  hands  with  him  first," 
said  the  Major. 

"Rather  like  what  he's  done  to  me!"  thought  Winnie  to 
herself;  but  Merriam  did  not  read  the  meaning  of  the 
glance,  the  smile,  and  the  gentle  pressure  on  his  arm. 

"But  he's  got  his  regiment,  too!"  she  went  on.  Then, 
glancing  up  at  her  companion,  she  saw  that  he  was  not  heed- 
ing her  words,  and  the  rest  of  her  meditation  over  the  paral- 
lel was  conducted  in  silence. 

The  General  was  not  to  be  found  that  night — he  had  re- 
treated to  his  own  quarters  in  the  annex.  Winnie  said  her 
farewell  to  him  on  the  balcony  after  breakfast  the  next 
morning,  as  they  stood  and  looked  at  the  big  hull  of  the 
liner  in  the  roadstead;  she  was  to  start  in  a  couple  of  hours' 
time. 

"  Have  you  forgiven  me,  General  ?  Will  you  say  good- 
bye to  me  ?  I  said  good-bye  to  your  son  last  night." 

"  He'll  be  gone  before  you  get  back  to  England.  He  told 
me  something  about  last  night.  You're  friends,  he  and 
you,  now  ?  And,  of  course,  my  dear,  you  and  I.  And  we 
shall  meet." 

The  ship  sent  out  a  warning  hoot.  "Come  on,  if  you're 
coming,"  she  seemed  to  say. 

"  But  he  and  I  sha'n't  meet.  I'm  so  glad  we  have  met — 
just  for  an  hour  once." 

The  funny  little  man,  "Dolly,"  fussed  onto  the  balcony, 
monstrously  encumbered  with  impedimenta  —  a  rug,  a 
"nest"  of  wicker  baskets,  a  cap,  and  a  pair  of  shoes  of  the 
country,  a  huge  bunch  of  bananas,  and  a  specimen  of  sugar- 
cane. The  ship  hooted  again,  and  he  made  a  hurried  rush 
up  to  Winnie. 

"Good-bye,  Miss  Wilson,  good-bye,"  he  said,  dropping 

293 


MRS.  MAXON    PROTESTS 

half  a  dozen  things  on  the  floor  in  order  to  give  her  a  hand- 
shake. "I've  got  something  for  everybody,  I  think.  I 
won — yes,  I  won — last  night,  and  I  went  down  to  the  town 
early  and  bought  these  presents." 

"How  fine!  Good-bye,  Mr.  Wigram.  Tell  all  the  truth 
you  can,  won't  you  ?" 

He  put  his  head  on  one  side,  in  a  comical  seriousness. 
"I've  been  thinking — since  I  talked  to  you,  Miss  Wilson — 
that  my  senior  class  could  stand  a  little."  Another  hoot! 
"Oh,  good-bye!"  he  exclaimed,  in  an  extraordinary  fluster, 
as  he  picked  up  the  things  he  had  dropped  and  made  a  bolt 
for  the  stairs.  Winnie  watched  him  running  down  the  steps 
that  led  through  the  garden  to  the  landing-stage. 

"I  think  the  senior  class  can  stand  a  little,  don't  you, 
General  ?" 

"You're  over-young  to  be  in  it,  my  dear." 

She  turned  to  him.  "I'm  not  unhappy,  and  I  don't 
reckon  myself  unfortunate,  because  I  think  that,  to  some 
extent  at  least,  I  can  learn.  The  only  really  unhappy 
people  are  people  who  can't  learn  at  all,  I  think.  Fancy 
going  through  it  all  and  learning  absolutely  nothing!" 

A  longer,  more  insistent  hoot!  Bertie  Merriam  sauntered 
onto  the  balcony.  No  observer  would  have  guessed  that 
the  hoot  meant  anything  to  him  or  that  he  had  any  farewell 
to  make.  The  General  held  out  his  hand  to  Winnie.  "I'll 
take  the  steps  gently — Bertie  can  overtake  me.  Au  revoir, 
Miss  Winnie,  in  London!" 

Bertie  Merriam  came  to  her.  "You  slept  well?"  he 
asked. 

"Oh  yes.  Why  not?  I  was  so  at  peace.  Say  nothing 
this  morning.  We  said  good-bye  last  night." 

"Yes,  I  know,  but — "  He  was  obviously  embarrassed. 

294 


AN    ENLIGHTENMENT 

"  But  I  want  to  ask  you  one  thing.     It  '11  seem  jolly  absurd, 
I  know,  and  rather  conceited." 

"Will  it  ?"  asked  Winnie,  with  bright  eyes  glistening. 

"Well,  if  there  should  be  any  little  row  in  India — I  know 
people  at  home  don't  take  much  notice  of  them — any  little 
expedition  or  anything  of  that  kind,  could  you  keep  your 
eye  on  it  ?  Because  we  might  have  the  luck  to  be  in  it, 
and  I  should  like  you  to  know  how  the  regiment  shows  up." 

"If  you've  the  luck  to  be  getting  killed,  I'll  read  about 
it,"  said  Winnie.  She  smiled  with  trembling  lips.  "It's 
really  the  least  I  can  do  for  a  friend,  Major  Merriam." 

"Killed?  Oh,  rot!  Just  see  first  how  near  to  full 
strength  we  turn  out — that's  my  great  test — and  then,  if 
you  read  of  any  other  fellows  showing  us  the  way,  you  might 
let  me  know,  and  I'll  inquire  about  it — because  we  don't 
reckon  to  let  it  happen  very  often.  Hullo,  that  whistle  really 
sounds  as  if  she  meant  business!"  He  gripped  her  hand 
tightly  and  looked  into  her  eyes.  "Here's  the  end,  Winnie!" 

"I  wouldn't  have  had  it  not  happen;  would  you  ?' 

"I  shall  often  wonder  if  I  did  right." 

She  smiled.  "You  needn't.  What  you  did  would  have 
made  no  difference — only  you'd  have  been  a  little  less  loyal 
to  your  duty." 

"I  wish  I  knew  what  was  going  to  become  of  you." 

"I'm  not  afraid  any  more.     God  bless  you,  dear." 

He  waited  one  moment  longer.  "You've  no  grudge 
against  me  ?" 

Winnie  turned  sharply  away  and  leaned  over  the  balcony. 
"Oh,  please,  please!"  she  stammered. 

When  she  saw  him  again  he  was  half-way  down  to  the 
landing-stage.  He  turned,  waved  his  hand,  and  so  passed 
out  of  sight — and  out  of  life  for  Winnie  Maxon. 

295 


XXV 

"PERHAPS!" 

"/*""'*  OOD  gracious!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Ladd,  laying  down 

> — J  her  knife  and  fork. 

From  her  table  in  the  dining-room  of  the  Hotel  de  la 
Grande  Bretagne  at  Bellaggio  she  commanded  a  view  of 
the  door,  and  could  scrutinize  her  fellow-guests  as  they  en- 
tered. The  hotel  was  full  of  fresh  birds  of  passage  every 
evening,  for  the  end  of  the  season  was  approaching,  and  all 
the  world  was  travelling  through  on  its  way  northward.  A 
lady  of  lively  curiosity,  possessed,  moreover,  by  that  sense 
of  superiority  over  the  casual  visitor  which  a  long  stay  in  a 
hotel  always  gives,  Mrs.  Ladd  allowed  few  of  the  new- 
comers to  escape  without  comment  or  criticism.  Lady 
Rosaline,  whose  back  was  toward  the  door,  often  felt  com- 
pelled to  twist  her  head  round  in  order  to  estimate  for  her- 
self the  justice  of  her  companion's  remarks;  but  on  this  oc- 
casion she  merely  asked,  "What's  the  matter,  dear?" 

"Why,  that  woman  who's  just  come  in!"  Her  voice  was 
full  of  pleasurable  excitement.  "It's  Cyril  Maxon's  wife. 
Who  is  it  with  her,  I  wonder!"  Mrs.  Ladd  was  not  ac- 
quainted personally,  or  even  by  hearsay,  with  Mrs.  Le- 
noir. 

Lady  Rosaline's  head  went  round,  not  quickly  or  eagerly, 
but  with  a  well-bred  show  of  indifference.  She  watched 

296 


"PERHAPS!" 

Winnie  walking  down  the  room.     "  Did  she  see  us  ?"  she 
asked  of  Mrs.  Ladd. 

"No,  she  didn't  look  this  way.  What  shall  we  do, 
Rosaline  ?  It's  very  awkward."  Awkward  as  it  was,  Mrs. 
Ladd  sounded  more  puzzled  than  pained. 

"I  only  knew  her  very  slightly — three  or  four  quite  formal 
calls — in  the  old  days." 

"  Oh,  I  used  to  see  her  now  and  then,  though  it  was  her 
husband  who  was  my  friend,  of  course." 

"Well,  then,  I  think  we  can  do  as  we  like." 

"I  don't  know.  As  friends  of  his — well,  what's  the  right 
thing  toward  him  ?" 

"I  don't  mind  what's  the  right  thing  —  toward  Mr. 
Maxon,"  said  Lady  Rosaline,  pettishly.  "It  won't  hurt 
him  if  we're  civil  to  her.  I  shall  please  myself.  I  sha'n't 
go  out  of  my  way  to  look  for  her,  but  if  we  meet  I  shall  bow." 

"Oh,  well,  I  must  do  the  same  as  you,  of  course.  Only 
I  must  say  I  hope  Cyril  won't  hear  about  it  and  be  hurt.  He 
always  expects  his  friends  to  make  his  quarrels  theirs,  you 
know!" 

Lady  Rosaline  allowed  herself  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders; 
she  was  not  bound  to  please  Cyril  Maxon — not  yet.  The 
friendly  correspondence  was  still  going  on,  but  things  looked 
as  if  it  would  either  cease  or  assume  a  different  complexion 
before  long.  She  had  a  letter  up-stairs  in  her  writing-case 
at  this  moment — an  unanswered  letter — in  which  he  in- 
formed her  that  the  last  tie  between  Winnie  and  himself 
would  be  severed  in  a  few  weeks,  and  asked  leave  to  join 
her  at  Bellaggio,  or  wherever  else  she  was  going  to  be,  for 
two  or  three  days  during  the  Whitsuntide  vacation. 

"Then  there  will  be  nothing  to  prevent  our  arriving  at  a 
complete  understanding,"  he  added. 

297 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

Lady  Rosaline  knew  what  that  meant.  She  must  make 
up  her  mind.  Unless  she  could  make  it  up  in  the  manner 
desired  by  Mr.  Maxon,  she  did  not  think  that  they  had 
better  meet  in  the  Whitsuntide  vacation;  he  would  not  be 
an  agreeable  companion  if  his  wishes  were  thwarted.  Even 
now,  while  he  was  still  in  hope  and  had  every  motive  to  be  as 
pleasant  as  he  could,  there  ran  through  the  friendly  letter 
a  strain  of  resentment  imperfectly  repressed. 

Under  these  circumstances,  with  this  decision  of  hers  to 
make,  it  was  not  strange  that  Lady  Rosaline  should  be  in- 
terested by  the  chance  which  threw  across  her  path  the 
woman  who  had  been — and  technically  still  was,  for  a  little 
while  longer — Cyril  Maxon's  wife.  Mrs.  Ladd,  who  guessed 
her  friend's  situation  pretty  shrewdly,  was  hardly  less  cu- 
rious, though  more  restrained  by  her  loyalty  to  Cyril. 
Still,  she  was  glad  that  Lady  Rosaline  had  determined  that 
they  need  not  cut  Mrs.  Maxon.  That  she  was  "Mrs. 
Maxon"  —  "Mrs.  Winifred  Maxon"  —  became  apparent 
from  an  examination  of  the  visitors'  book,  which  Mrs.  Ladd 
initiated  directly  after  dinner.  Winnie  was  sailing  under 
her  own  flag  again,  and  proposed  to  continue  to  fly  it  un- 
less Cyril  Maxon  objected.  If  he  heard  of  it  he  probably 
would  object;  then  she  could  find  another  sobriquet  if 
Mrs.  Lenoir  was  still  obdurate  as  regards  the  "kins"  which 
disfigured  her  own  maiden  name  of  "Wilkins." 

"And  the  woman  with  her  seems  to  be  a  Mrs.  Lenoir. 
At  least,  their  names  are  next  each  other,  and  so  are  their 
rooms.  Did  you  ever  hear  of  her  ?" 

"Never,"  answered  Lady  Rosaline.  It  was  just  as  well; 
they  had  plenty  of  material  for  gossip  already. 

They  were  sitting  in  the  hall  of  the  hotel,  where  wicker 
chairs  and  little  tables  were  set  out,  and  where  it  was  cus- 

298 


"PERHAPS!" 

ternary  to  take  coffee  after  dinner.  Mrs.  Ladd  had  made 
her  inspection  and  rejoined  her  friend. 

"Have  they  come  out  from  dinner  yet?"  she  asked. 

"No.  They  were  late  in  beginning,  you  see.  Where 
we're  sitting,  they  needn't  pass  us  when  they  do  come  out. 
Well,  we  don't  want  to  make  a  rush  for  them,  do  we,  Mrs. 
Ladd  ?" 

"Indeed,  no.  I  shall  only  speak  if  it's  forced  on  me — 
just  not  to  be  unkind,  Rosaline.  But  I  do  wish  they'd  come 
out!" 

At  last  the  new-comers  entered  the  hall,  Mrs.  Lenoir  lead- 
ing the  way.  She  looked  handsome  still,  but  rather  old  and 
haggard.  By  bad-luck  the  voyage  had  been  stormy  the  last 
two  days,  and  the  railway  journey  had  wearied  a  body  not 
very  robust.  But  Winnie  looked  well,  bright,  and  alert. 
They  did  not  pass  Mrs.  Ladd  and  Lady  Rosaline,  but  sat 
down  at  a  table  near  the  dining-room  door.  As  they  sat, 
their  profiles  were  presented  to  the  gaze  of  the  two  ladies  who 
were  observing  them  so  closely. 

"The  other  woman  must  have  been  very  handsome  once," 
Mrs.  Ladd  pronounced.  "I  wonder  who  she  was!"  Mrs. 
Lenoir's  air  of  past  greatness  often  caused  people  to  speak 
of  her  in  a  corresponding  tense. 

"Winnie  Maxon's  looking  well,  too.  I  think  she's  some- 
how changed;  don't  you,  Mrs.  Ladd  ?  There's  a  new  air 
about  her,  it  seems  to  me — a  sort  of  assured  air  she  hadn't 
before." 

"My  dear,  she  must  carry  it  off!  That's  the  meaning  of 
it." 

"I  wonder!"  Lady  Rosaline  was  not  satisfied.  Her 
memory  of  Winnie,  slight  as  it  was,  reminded  her  quite 
definitely  that  Cyril  Maxon's  wife  possessed  a  rather  timid 
20  299 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

air,  a  deprecatory  manner.  The  woman  over  there  was  in 
no  way  self-assertive  or  "loud,"  but  she  seemed  entirely 
self-possessed  and  self-reliant,  and  was  talking  in  an  ani- 
mated fashion.  Mrs.  Ladd  looked  again. 

"Cyril  said  she  accused  him  of  tyrannizing  over  her. 
I'm  sure  she  doesn't  look  as  if  she'd  been  tyrannized  over," 
she  remarked.  "All  nonsense,  I've  no  doubt." 

Lady  Rosaline  made  no  answer;  she  merely  went  on 
looking.  But  she  could  not  forget  that  many  months  had 
passed  since  Winnie  ended  her  married  life  with  Cyril 
Maxon. 

No  encounter  between  the  two  couples  occurred  that 
night;  indeed,  Mrs.  Lenoir  and  Winnie  remained  uncon- 
scious of  the  scrutiny  to  which  they  were  subjected,  and  of 
the  presence  of  the  ladies  who  were  conducting  it.  Wearied 
by  travel,  they  went  early  to  bed,  and  Mrs.  Ladd,  feeling 
immediately  very  dull,  went  and  hunted  out  an  elderly 
novel  from  the  drawing-room  shelves.  Lady  Rosaline  did 
not  read;  she  sat  on  idly  in  the  hall — thinking  still  of  Winnie 
and  of  Mrs.  Ladd's  remark  which  she  herself  had  not  an- 
swered. Should  she — could  she — question  the  one  person 
who  might  give  it  a  pertinent  answer  ?  Could  even  she 
answer  to  any  purpose  ?  That  is,  would  Winnie's  expe- 
rience and  opinion  be  any  guide  to  Lady  Rosaline  in  settling 
her  own  problem  ?  Perhaps  it  would  be  strange  to  ques- 
tion, and  perhaps  no  answer,  useless  or  useful,  would  be 
forthcoming.  Yet,  on  the  other  hand,  it  might  be  possible 
to  get  some  light.  These  thoughts  engrossed  her  mind  till 
she  went  discontentedly  to  bed,  and,  even  after  she  had  got 
into  bed,  remained  to  vex  and  puzzle  her  still.  But  there 
was  really  no  doubt  what,  in  the  end,  she  would  do.  She 
was  bound  to  try.  Both  curiosity  and  personal  interest 

300 


"  PERHAPS!" 

drove  her  on.  They  were  too  strong  to  be  suppressed, 
either  by  the  fear  of  a  snub  or  by  the  doubt  of  useful  re- 
sults. 

The  next  morning,  directly  after  breakfast,  she  went  out 
onto  the  broad  terrace  in  front  of  the  hotel,  and  sat  down  on 
a  Bench  close  by  the  main  doorway.  No  one  could  leave 
the  house  without  her  seeing.  She  reckoned  on  the  new- 
comers being  early  afoot  to  explore  their  surroundings;  she 
even  surmised  that  the  young  woman  would  very  likely  be 
out  before  her  elderly  companion — and  that  (said  Lady 
Rosaline's  secret  thoughts)  would  afford  the  best  chance  of 
all.  She  put  up  her  parasol  and  waited.  She  was  safe 
from  Mrs.  Ladd,  whom  she  did  not  want  at  that  moment, 
for  Mrs.  Ladd  was  up-stairs,  repairing  some  ravages  suf- 
fered by  one  of  her  gowns. 

"It's  a  funny  situation!"  So  Lady  Rosaline  reflected, 
and  she  wondered,  in  a  whimsical  mood  of  speculation,  what 
Cyril  Maxon  himself  would  think  of  it.  "What  I  really 
want  to  do  is  to  ask  for  his  character  from  his  last  place!" 
Yes,  that  was  what  it  came  to;  and  the  parallel  held  good 
still  further,  in  that  it  was  quite  likely  that  the  character 
would  not  tell  her  very  much,  would  not  show  whether  the 
applicant  were  likely  to  suit  her,  however  well  or  ill  he  had 
suited  in  his  previous  situation.  Still,  it  must  surely  reveal 
something  about  him  or  about  his  wife  herself;  even  knowl- 
edge about  the  wife  who  had  left  Maxon  would  be,  in  a 
way,  knowledge  about  Maxon  himself.  But  it  was  an  odd 
situation.  What  would  Cyril  think  of  it  ? 

A  surprising  number  of  people  came  out  of  that  doorway 
before  Winnie;  but  in  the  end  Lady  Rosaline's  forecast  was 
justified.  Winnie  did  come  out,  and  she  came  out  alone. 
She  wore  her  hat,  carried  a  parasol,  and  walked  with  a  quick 

301 


MRS.  MAXON    PROTESTS 

step,  as  though  she  were  bound  on  an  expedition.     Lady 
Rosaline  rose  from  her  chair  and  intercepted  her. 

"I  thought  it  was  you  last  night  at  table  d'hote,  and  now 
I'm  sure!  How  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Maxon  ?  You  remember 
me — Rosaline  Deering?"  She  held  out  her  hand.  "I'm 
so  glad  to  see  you." 

Winnie  shook  hands.  "Yes,  I  remember  you,  Lady 
Rosaline,  and  I'm  glad  to  see  you — if  you're  glad  to  see  me, 
I  mean,  you  know."  She  smiled.  "Well,  you  needn't 
have  shaken  hands  with  me  if  you  hadn't  wanted  to,  need 
you  ?  Isn't  it  lovely  here  ?" 

"It  is,  indeed.  Mrs.  Ladd — you  remember  her,  too,  of 
course  ? — and  I  have  been  here  together  for  nearly  a  month, 
and  hope  to  be  here  another  fortnight.  Are  you  staying 
long  ?" 

"  We  hoped  to,  but  my  friend  isn't  very  well — she's  staying 
in  bed  this  morning — and  I'm  afraid  she's  set  her  mind  on 
getting  home.  So  we  might  be  off,  really,  at  any  moment." 

Clearly  Lady  Rosaline  had  no  time  to  lose.  "Are  you 
going  for  a  walk  ?"  she  said. 

"Oh,  I'm  just  going  to  saunter  through  the  town  and  look 
about  me." 

"May  I  go  with  you  ?" 

"Of  course!  It'll  be  very  kind."  There  was  just  the 
faintest  note  of  surprise  in  Winnie's  voice.  Her  acquaint- 
ance with  her  husband's  friend  Rosaline  Deering  had  been 
very  slight;  it  had  never  reached  the  pitch  of  cordiality  on 
which  it  seemed  now,  rather  paradoxically,  to  be  establishing 
itself. 

Off  they  went  together — certainly  a  strange  sight  for  Cyril 
Maxon,  had  his  eyes  beheld  it!  But  even  eager  Lady  Rosa- 
line could  not  plunge  into  her  questions  at  once,  and  Winnie, 

302 


"  PERHAPS!" 

full  of  the  new  delight  of  Italy,  was  intent  on  the  sights  of 
the  little  town  and  on  the  beauty  of  the  lake  and  the  hills. 
It  was  not  till  they  had  come  back  and  sat  down  on  a  seat 
facing  the  water  that  the  talk  came  anywhere  near  the  point. 
Yet  the  walk  had  not  been  wasted;  they  had  got  on  well 
together,  the  cordiality  was  firmly  established — and  Lady 
Rosaline  had  enjoyed  an  opportunity  of  observing  more 
closely  what  manner  of  woman  Cyril  Maxon's  wife  was. 
The  old  impression  of  the  timid  air  and  deprecatory  manner 
needed  drastic  revision  to  bring  it  up  to  date;  these  were  not 
words  that  anybody  would  use  to  describe  the  present  Winnie 
Maxon. 

Still,  Lady  Rosaline  found  it  hard  to  begin,  hard  to  make 
any  reference,  however  guarded,  to  the  past.  In  fact,  it  was 
Winnie  herself  who  in  the  end  gave  the  lead.  Lady  Rosaline 
was  thankful;  she  had  begun  to  be  afraid  that  a  nervous 
desperation  would  drive  her  into  some  impossibly  crude 
question,  such  as  "Do  you  think  I  should  be  a  fool  if  I 
married  your  husband  ?" 

"I  suppose  you  see  Cyril  sometimes,  Lady  Rosaline  ?  Is 
he  all  right  ?" 

"Oh  yes,  he's  very  much  all  right,  I  think,  and  I  see  him 
pretty  often,  for  so  busy  and  sought-after  a  man."  She 
decided  that  she  must  risk  something  if  she  were  to  gain 
anything.  "Isn't  it  rather  a  strange  feeling,  after  having 
been  so  very  much  to  each  other,  to  be  so  absolutely  apart 
now  ?  I  hope  you'll  tell  me  if  you'd  rather  not  talk  ?" 

"I  don't  mind,"  smiled  Winnie.  "It's  a  great  change,  of 
course,  but  really  I  don't  often  think  of  him — nor  he  of  me, 
I  expect."  She  added,  with  a  little  laugh:  "At  least  I  hope 
he  doesn't,  because  he  wouldn't  think  anything  compli- 
mentary. Of  course  I  was  surprised  about  the  divorce." 

303 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

"We  were  all  rather  surprised  at  that,"  Lady  Rosaline 
murmured,  discreetly;  her  object  was  to  obtain,  not  to  give, 
information. 

"It's  the  one  inconsistent  thing  I've  ever  known  him  do." 
She  laughed.  "I  wonder  if  it's  possible  that  he's  fallen  in 
love  with  somebody  else!" 

Lady  Rosaline  threw  no  light.  "  Oh,  well,  he  wouldn't 
have  to  ask  in  vain,  I  should  think." 

Winnie  said  nothing.  She  looked  at  the  sea  with  a  smile 
which  her  companion  felt  justified  in  calling  inscrutable. 
Lady  Rosaline  took  another  risk. 

"So  much  the  worse  for  the  woman,  you'd  say,  I  sup- 
pose ?'' 

"I  don't  want  to  say  anything.  What  I  felt  seems  pretty 
well  indicated  by  what  I  did,  doesn't  it,  Lady  Rosaline  ? 
Because  I  wasn't  in  love  with  anybody  else  then,  you  know." 

No,  what  she  felt  was  not  sufficiently  indicated  for  Lady 
Rosaline's  purposes.  What  Winnie  had  done  showed  that, 
to  her,  life  with  Cyril  was  impossible;  but  it  did  not  show 
why.  Just  the  point  essential  to  Lady  Rosaline  was 
omitted. 

"I  should  think  some  women  might  get  on  very  well  with 
him,  though  ?"  she  hazarded. 

Winnie  gazed  over  the  lake;  she  appeared  to  ruminate. 
Then  she  turned  to  her  companion,  smiling. 

"Perhaps!"  she  said.  "And  now  I  really  must  go  and 
see  how  Mrs.  Lenoir — my  friend — is.  I  hope  we  shall  have 
another  talk  before  we  go — I  don't  mean  about  Cyril!" 

Lady  Rosaline  watched  her  erect  figure  and  her  buoyant 
step  as  she  walked  back  to  the  hotel,  recalled  her  gayety  and 
the  merriment  of  her  smile  as  she  enjoyed  lake,  mountains, 
and  the  little  town,  caught  again  the  elusive  twinkle  of  her 

3°4 


"  PERHAPS!" 

eyes  as  she  referred  to  the  one  inconsistent  thing  that  Cyril 
Maxon  had  ever  done.  And  that  "Perhaps!" — that  most 
unsatisfactory,  tantalizing  "Perhaps!"  Was  it  a  genuine 
assent,  or  merely  a  civil  dismissal  of  the  question,  as  one  of  no 
moment  to  the  person  interrogated  ?  Or  was  it  in  effect  a 
dissent — a  reception  of  the  suggestion  profoundly  sceptical, 
almost  scornful  ?  Probably  a  different  woman  could — pos- 
sibly some  woman'  might — no  woman  conceivably  could — 
that  "Perhaps"  seemed  susceptible  of  any  of  the  three  in- 
terpretations. Lady  Rosaline  made  impotent  clutches  at 
the  slippery  word;  it  gave  her  no  hand-hold;  it  was  not  to 
be  tackled. 

It  was  no  use  consulting  Mrs.  Ladd;  she  had  not  heard 
the  elusive  answer.  Could  Lady  Rosaline  unbosom  her- 
self plainly  to  Mrs.  Maxon  ?  That  was  her  secret  and  urgent 
instinct,  but,  somehow,  it  did  not  seem  an  admissible  thing 
to  do;  it  was  bizarre,  and  distasteful  to  her  feelings.  Yet 
before  long  she  must  answer  Cyril's  letter.  To  allow  him 
to  come  and  meet  her  would  be  tantamount  to  an  accept- 
ance. To  refuse  to  allow  him  would  be,  at  least,  such  a 
postponement  as  he  would  bitterly  resent  and  probably  de- 
cline to  agree  to;  he  would  either  take  it  as  a  definite  rejec- 
tion, or  he  would  come  without  leave — and  "bully"  her 
again  ?  She  could  hide  herself — but  could  she  ?  Mrs. 
Ladd  would  want  to  know  why,  and  laugh  at  her — and  not 
improbably  put  Cyril  on  the  track.  Lady  Rosaline  felt  her- 
self wrapped  in  perplexity  as  in  a  garment. 

"Bother  the  man!"  she  suddenly  said  to  herself  aloud. 
Then  she  started  violently.  A  tall,  handsome,  elderly  lady, 
carrying  a  parasol,  a  large  cushion,  and  a  book,  was  abso- 
lutely at  her  elbow.  She  recognized  Winnie's  companion, 
Mrs.  Lenoir. 

3°5 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

"I'm  afraid  I  startled  you?  May  I  sit  down  here? 
Winnie  Maxon  told  me  who  you  were,  and  you've  been 
talking  to  her,  haven't  you  ?"  Mrs.  Lenoir's  amused  ex- 
pression left  no  doubt  that  she  was  aware  of  the  subject  of 
the  conversation.  "Oh,  she  only  just  mentioned  that  you 
were  a  friend  of  Mr.  Maxon's,"  she  added.  "She  didn't 
betray  your  confidences." 

"  I  really  don't  think  I  made  any,"  smiled  Lady  Rosaline. 
"But  Mr.  Maxon  is  a  friend  of  mine.  Oh,  do  let  me  settle 
that  cushion  comfortably  for  you.  You're  not  feeling  very 
well  this  morning,  Mrs.  Maxon  told  me." 

"I  feel  better  now,"  said  Mrs.  Lenoir,  graciously  accept- 
ing the  proffered  service.  "And  the  day's  so  beautiful  that 
I  thought  I'd  come  out.  But  I  didn't  mean  to  make  you 
jump,  Lady  Rosaline." 

She  gave  a  sigh  of  contentment  as  she  achieved  a  satis- 
factory position  in  regard  to  the  cushion.  "I  don't  know 
Mr.  Maxon  myself,"  she  remarked. 

"I  like  him  very  much." 

"Yes?"  She  was  just  as  non-committal  as  Winnie  had 
been  with  her  "Perhaps." 

"Of  course,  you've  heard  her  side  of  the  story." 

"I  have,"  said  Mrs.  Lenoir.  "Or  as  much  of  it  as  she'd 
tell  me." 

Lady  Rosaline  determined  to  try  what  a  little  provocation 
would  do. 

"Of  course,  we  who  are  his  friends  think  that  all  might 
have  gone  well  with  a  little  more  wisdom  on  her  part." 

Mrs.  Lenoir  raised  her  brows  ever  so  slightly.  "Oh, 
perhaps!"  she  murmured,  gently. 

It  was  really  exasperating!  To  be  baffled  at  every  turn 
by  that  wretched  word,  with  its  pretence  of  conceding  that 

306 


"  PERHAPS!" 

was  no  real  concession,  with  its  feigned  assent  which  might 
so  likely  cloak  an  obstinate  dissent!  It  was  like  listening 
for  an  expected  sound  from  another  room — the  noise  of 
voices  or  of  movements — and  finding,  instead,  absolute 
silence  and  stillness;  there  was  something  of  the  same  un- 
canny effect.  Lady  Rosaline  passed  from  mere  perplexity 
into  a  vague  discomfort — an  apprehension  of  possibilities 
which  she  was  refused  the  means  of  gauging,  however 
vitally  they  might  affect  her.  Dare  she  walk  into  that 
strangely  silent  room — and  let  them  bolt  and  bar  the  door 
on  her  ? 

"After  all,  it's  not  our  business,"  Mrs.  Lenoir  remarked, 
with  a  smile.  "Winnie  couldn't  stand  it,  but,  as  you  say, 
perhaps  a  wiser  woman — " 

"Couldn't  stand  what?"  Lady  Rosaline  broke  in  im- 
patiently. 

"Oh,  Cyril  Maxon,  you  know." 

Not  a  step  in  advance!  Silence  still!  Lady  Rosaline, 
frowning  fretfully,  rose  to  her  feet.  Mrs.  Lenoir  looked  up, 
smiling  again.  She  was  not  sure  of  the  case,  but  she  was 
putting  two  and  two  together,  helped  by  the  exclamation 
which  she  had  involuntarily  overheard.  In  any  case,  she 
had  no  mind  to  interfere.  This  woman  was  Cyril  Maxon's 
friend,  not  Winnie's.  Mrs.  Lenoir  instinctively  associated 
the  husband's  women  friends  with  the  wife's  hardships. 
Let  this  friend  of  Maxon's  fend  for  herself! 

"But,  of  course,  one  woman's  poison  may  be  another 
woman's  meat.  Are  you  going  in  ?" 

"Yes,  I  think  so.     The  sun's  rather  hot." 

"Oh,  I'm  a  salamander!  Good-bye,  then,  for  the  present, 
Lady  Rosaline." 

Lady  Rosaline  had  come  from  abroad  for  a  breathing- 

3°7 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

space,  to  take  stock  of  the  situation,  to  make  up  her  mind 
about  Cyril  Maxon.  It  had  not  proved  easy,  and  her  en- 
counter with  these  two  women  made  it  harder  still.  The 
perplexity  irked  her  sorely.  She  bore  a  grudge  against  the 
two  for  their  baffling  reticence;  insensibly  the  grudge  ex- 
tended itself  to  the  man  who  was  the  ultimate  cause  of  her 
disquiet.  He  was  spoiling  her  holiday  for  her.  "  I  shall 
fret  myself  into  a  fever!"  she  declared,  as  she  wandered  dis- 
consolately up  to  her  bedroom,  to  make  herself  tidy  for 
dejeuner. 

On  her  dressing-table  lay  a  letter — from  Venice.  She 
had  not  forgotten  her  promise  to  send  an  address  to  the 
Hotel  Danieli.  Now  Sir  Axel  Thrapston  informed  her  that 
he  was  starting  for  home  in  a  couple  of  days'  time,  and 
would  make  it  convenient — and  consider  it  delightful — to 
pass  through  Bellaggio  on  his  way;  would  she  still  be  there, 
and  put  up  with  his  company  for  a  day  or  two  ?  "Pictures 
and  churches  and  gondolas  are  all  very  well;  but  I  shall  like 
a  gossip  with  a  friend  better  still,"  wrote  Sir  Axel. 

As  she  read,  Lady  Rosaline  was  conscious  of  a  relief  as 
vague  as  her  discomfort  had  been,  and  yet  as  great.  The 
atmosphere  about  her  seemed  suddenly  changed  and 
lightened.  Almost  with  a  start  she  recalled  how  she  had 
experienced  a  similar  feeling  when  Cyril  Maxon  had  gone 
and  Sir  Axel  had  come  that  afternoon  in  Hans  Place.  The 
feeling  was  not  of  excitement,  nor  even  primarily  of  pleasure; 
it  was  of  rest,  instead  of  struggle — of  security,  as  against 
some  unascertained  but  possibly  enormous  liability.  And 
it  was  present  in  her  in  even  stronger  force  than  it  had  been 
before,  because  of  those  two  women  and  their  baffling, 
slippery  "Perhaps!"  As  she  took  off  her  hat  and  arranged 
her  hair  before  going  down-stairs,  the  import  of  this  vague 

308 


"PERHAPS!" 

change  of  feeling  began  to  take  shape  in  her  mind.  Slowly 
it  grew  to  definite  ness.  Lady  Rosaline  was  making  up  her 
mind  at  last!  The  possibilities  lurking  in  the  darkness  of 
that  "Perhaps"  were  too  much  for  her.  "If  I  feel  like  this 
about  it,  how  can  I  dare  to  do  it  ?"  was  the  shape  her 
thoughts  took.  Yet,  even  if  she  dared  not  do  it,  there  was 
trouble  before  her.  Cyril  Maxon  would  not  sit  down 
tamely  under  that  decision.  He  would  protest,  he  would 
persist,  he  might  "bully"  her  again;  he  might  seek  her  even 
though  she  forbade  him,  and,  if  he  found  her,  she  was  not 
quite  confident  of  her  power  to  resist. 

A  smile  came  slowly  to  her  lips  as  she  looked  at  herself 
in  the  pier-glass  and  put  the  finishing  touches  to  her  array. 
It  would  be  pleasant  to  have  Sir  Axel's  company;  it  might 
even  be  agreeable  to  travel  home  under  Sir  Axel's  escort,  if 
that  gentleman's  leisure  allowed.  Lady  Rosaline's  thoughts 
embraced  the  idea  of  Sir  Axel  as  an  ally,  perhaps  envisaged 
him  as  a  shield.  Possibly  they  went  so  far  as  to  hazard  the 
suggestion  that  a  man  who  will  not  bow  before  a  decision 
may  be  confronted  with  a  situation  which  he  cannot  but 
accept.  At  any  rate,  when  she  went  down-stairs  to  the 
dining-room,  Lady  Rosaline's  fretful  frown  had  disappeared; 
passing  Mrs.  Lenoir  and  Winnie  in  the  doorway,  she  smiled 
at  them  with  no  trace  of  grudge.  "I'm  glad  I  met  them 
now,"  was  her  reflection.  She  forgave  "Perhaps!" 


XXVI 

A   FRIEND   DEPARTS 

MRS.  LENOIR  and  Winnie  stayed  at  Bellaggio  four 
or  five  days,  during  which  time  their  acquaintance 
with  the  other  two  ladies  blossomed  into  a  more  intimate 
cordiality.  Yet  neither  of  the  two  who  knew  the  position, 
nor  yet  the  one  who  confidently  suspected  it,  thought  it  well 
to  suggest  to  Winnie  the  existence  of  any  special  situation 
or  any  urgent  question  in  which  Lady  Rosaline  and  Cyril 
Maxon  were  concerned.  Such  a  disclosure  would,  it  was 
felt  by  all  three,  lead  to  awkwardness.  But  when  once  the 
two  parties  had  said  farewell,  and  Winnie  and  she  were  on 
their  way  home,  Mrs.  Lenoir  saw  no  reason  against  men- 
tioning the  conclusion  at  which  she  had  arrived,  or  against 
conjecturing  what,  if  any,  bearing  on  the  state  of  affairs  the 
arrival  of  Sir  Axel  Thrapston  might  have;  he  had  reached 
Bellaggio  the  day  before  their  own  departure,  and  had  been 
received  by  Lady  Rosaline  with  much  graciousness. 

Winnie  had  not  stumbled  on  the  truth  for  herself;  indeed, 
her  mind  had  been  occupied  with  the  thought  of  another 
man  than  Cyril  Maxon.  She  heard  it  from  her  friend  with- 
out surprise,  and  was  not  unable  to  appreciate  Mrs.  Lenoir's 
grimly  humorous  embroidering  of  the  situation.  Yet  her 
native  and  intimate  feeling  was  one  of  protest  against  that 
way  of  the  world  which,  under  the  pressure  of  her  various 

310 


A    FRIEND    DEPARTS 

experiences,  she  was  beginning  to  recognize  and  to  learn 
that  she  would  have  to  accept.  On  the  day  she  left  Cyril 
Maxon's  house  for  good  and  all,  she  had  conceived  herself 
to  be  leaving  Cyril  Maxon  also  for  good  and  all,  to  be  putting 
him  out  of  her  life,  away  from  and  behind  her,  without  the 
right  or  power  to  demand  one  backward  glance  from  her  as 
she  trod  a  path  conditioned,  indeed,  in  one  respect  by  his 
existence,  but,  for  the  future,  essentially  independent  of  him. 
The  course  of  events  had  hardly  justified  this  forecast. 
Freedom  from  the  thought  of  him  had  not  proved  possible; 
he  did  more  than  impose  conditions;  he  still  figured  as 
rather  a  determining  factor  in  life  and  her  outlook  on  it. 
She  seemed  to  take  him  with  her  where  she  went,  so  to  say, 
and  thus  to  bring  him  into  contact  with  all  those  with 
whom  she  had  relations  herself.  Both  in  small  things  and 
in  great  it  happened — as,  for  example,  in  this  queer  en- 
counter with  Rosaline  Deering,  and  in  the  moving  episode 
of  her  acquaintance  with  Bertie  Merriam,  no  less  than  in 
the  earlier  history  of  the  West  Kensington  studio.  She  had 
not  succeeded  in  disassociating  her  destiny  from  his,  in 
severing  to  the  last  link  the  tie  which  had  once  so  closely 
bound  her  to  him.  Complete  freedom,  and  the  full  sense  of 
it,  might  come  in  the  future;  for  the  moment  her  feeling 
was  one  of  scorn  for  the  ignorant  young  woman  who  had 
thought  that  a  big  thing  could  so  easily  be  undone — robbed 
of  effect  and  made  as  if  it  had  never  been.  And  suppose 
that  complete  freedom,  now  possible  in  action  to  her,  should 
really  come,  and  with  it  a  corresponding  inward  emancipa- 
tion; yet  there  stood  and  would  stand  the  effect  on  those  other 
lives — effects  great  or  small,  transitory  or  permanent,  but  in 
the  mass  amounting  to  a  considerable  sum  of  human  experi- 
ence, owing  its  shape  and  color  in  the  end  to  her  own  action. 

3" 


MRS.  MAXON    PROTESTS 

Though  she  had  not  loved  Bertie  Merriam,  their  inter- 
course, his  revelation  of  himself,  and  the  manner  of  their 
parting  had  deeply  affected  her.  For  the  first  time  she  had 
seen  the  enemy,  convention — the  established  order,  the 
proper  thing — in  a  form  which  she  could  not  only  under- 
stand, but  with  which  she  was  obliged  to  sympathize. 
What  had  seemed  to  her  hard  dogmatism  in  her  husband 
and  Attlebury,  and  a  mere  caste-respectability,  external, 
narrow,  and  cowardly,  in  the  denizens  of  Woburn  Square, 
took  on  a  new  shape  when  it  was  embodied  in  the  loyalty 
of  a  soldier  and  found  its  expression,  not  in  demands  upon 
another,  but  in  the  sacrifice  of  self  to  an  obligation  and  an 
ideal.  Liberty  had  been  her  god,  and  she  would  not  desert 
the  shrine  at  which  Shaylor's  Patch  had  taught  her  to  wor- 
ship; but  Merriam  had  shown  her,  had  brought  home  to 
her  through  the  penetrating  appeal  of  vivid  emotion,  that 
there  were  other  deities  worthy  of  offerings  and  noble  wor- 
shippers who  made  them.  It  was  a  great  revulsion  of  feel- 
ing which  drove  her  to  declare  that  Merriam  could  do  no 
other  than  sacrifice  his  hope  of  her  to  his  sworn  service  and 
to  the  regiment. 

In  justifying,  or  more  than  justifying,  himself,  in  some 
sort  Merriam  pleaded  for  Cyril  Maxon.  Winnie  held  her- 
self to  a  stricter  account  of  her  dealings  with  her  husband. 
When  she  understood  why  he  had  deviated  from  his  strict 
conviction,  and  how  it  was  likely  that  the  deviation  would 
be  in  vain,  she  was  anxious  to  rid  her  soul  of  any  sense  of 
responsibility.  She  recalled  just  what  she  had  said,  as 
near  as  she  could  ;  she  listened  carefully  to  Mrs.  Le- 
noir's  account  of  her  own  conversation  with  Lady  Ro- 
saline. 

"  Do  you  think  that  we  influenced  her — that  we  stopped 

312 


A    FRIEND    DEPARTS 

her?"  she  asked.  "Because  I  wouldn't  have  done  that  on 
purpose." 

"I  certainly  wouldn't  have  encouraged  her  on  purpose. 
And,  if  you  ask  me,  I  think  that  our  attitude  of — well,  of 
reserve  (Mrs.  Lenoir  was  smiling),  will  have  its  weight — 
combined,  perhaps,  with  Sir  Axel's  attractions." 

"I'm  sorry.  If  Cyril  does  want  her,  and  it  doesn't  come 
off,  he'll  hate  me  worse  than  ever." 

"He  won't  guess  you've  had  anything  to  do  with  it — 
supposing  you  have." 

"No,  but  he'll  trace  the  whole  thing  back  to  me,  of  course. 
He'll  blame  me  for  having  forced  him  into  acting  against 
his  conscience." 

"Tut,  tut,  he  shouldn't  have  such  a  silly  conscience,"  said 
Mrs.  Lenoir  easily.  To  her,  consciences  were  not  things  to 
be  treated  with  an  exaggerated  punctilio.  "After  all,  if 
she'd  asked  you  right  out,  what  would  you  have  said  ?" 

"  I  should  have  refused  to  say  anything,  of  course." 

"She  probably  thought  as  much,  so  she  tried  to  pump 
you  indirectly.  I  think  you  seem  to  have  been  very  mod- 
erate— and  I'm  sure  I  was.  And,  as  one  woman  toward 
another,  you  ought  to  be  glad  if  Lady  Rosaline  does  prove 
quick  at  taking  a  hint.  I  shall  be  glad  too,  incidentally, 
because  I  like  her,  and  hope  to  see  something  of  her  in  town 
— which  I  certainly  shouldn't  do  if  she  became  Lady 
Rosaline  Maxon." 

"Well,  I  had  no  idea  how  matters  stood,  and  I  said  as 
little  as  I  could,"  Winnie  ended,  protesting  against  any  new 
entry  on  the  debit  side  of  her  account  with  Cyril — a  column 
about  which  she  had  not  been  wont  greatly  to  concern 
herself. 

Winnie  soon  found  distraction  from  curious  probings  of 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

her  conscience  in  the  care  and  tendance  of  her  friend,  in 
which  she  assisted  the  invaluable  Emily.  As  they  trav- 
elled gradually  homeward,  Mrs.  Lenoir  developed  a  severe 
and  distressing  cough,  which  made  sleep  very  difficult  and 
reduced  her  none  too  great  strength  to  dangerous  weakness. 
Yet  home  she  would  go,  rejecting  almost  curtly  any  sugges- 
tion of  a  return  to  a  milder  climate.  She  faced  her  position 
with  a  fatalistic  courage,  and  her  attitude  toward  it  was 
marked  by  her  habitual  clearness  of  vision. 

"If  I'm  going  to  die — and  I  rather  think  I  am — I'd  sooner 
die  at  home  than  in  a  hotel." 

"Oh,  don't  talk  about  dying!"  Winnie  implored.  "What 
am  I  to  do  ?"  Indeed  she  was  now  bound  to  her  friend  by 
a  strong  affection. 

"Well,  there's  just  you — and  the  General.  But  the 
General  will  die  too  quite  soon,  and  you'll  go  away  anyhow. 
Oh  yes,  you'll  have  to,  somehow;  it  '11  happen  like  that. 
There's  nobody  else  who  cares.  And  I  don't  know  that 
women  like  me  do  themselves  any  good  by  living  to  be  old. 
I'm  not  complaining;  I  chose  my  life  and  I've  enjoyed  it. 
Let  me  go  home,  Winnie!" 

The  appeal  could  not  be  resisted,  and  the  beginning  of 
May  found  them  at  home.  A  late  cold  spring  filled  Winnie 
with  fears  for  her  friend.  Yet  Mrs.  Lenoir  neither  would 
nor,  as  it  now  seemed,  could  make  another  move.  She  lay 
on  her  sofa,  her  beautiful  eyes  steadily  in  front  of  her.  She 
moved  and  spoke  little.  She  seemed  just  to  be  waiting. 
Often  Winnie  wondered  through  what  scenes  of  recollection, 
through  what  strains  of  meditation,  her  mind  was  passing. 
But  she  preserved  all  that  defensiveness  which  her  life  had 
taught  her — the  power  of  saying  nothing  about  herself,  of 
giving  no  opening  either  to  praise  or  to  blame,  of  asking  no 

3H 


A    FRIEND    DEPARTS 

outside  support.  Perhaps  she  talked  to  the  General.  He 
came  every  day,  and  Winnie  was  at  pains  to  leave  them 
alone  together.  Toward  the  rest  of  the  world,  including 
even  Winnie,  she  was  evidently  minded  to  maintain  to  the 
end  her  consistent  reticence.  Sickness  puts  a  house  out  of 
the  traffic  of  the  world;  day  followed  day  in  a  quiet  isolation 
and  a  sad  tranquillity. 

What  had  passed  left  its  mark  on  Winnie's  relations  with 
the  General.  He  was,  of  course,  courteous  and  more  than 
that.  He  was  uniformly  kind,  even  affectionate,  and  con- 
stituted himself  her  partner  in  all  that  could  be  done  or  at- 
tempted for  the  patient  whom  they  both  loved.  That  link 
between  them  held,  and  would  hold  till  another  power  than 
theirs  severed  it.  But  it  was  all  that  now  kept  them  to- 
gether; when  it  was  gone  he  would  be  in  effect  a  stranger 
to  her.  If  she  said  to  herself,  with  a  touch  of  bitterness, 
"He  has  lost  all  his  interest  in  me,"  there  was  a  sense  in 
which  she  spoke  the  truth.  He  had  pictured  her  as  coming 
into  the  inner  circle  of  his  life,  and  had  urgently  desired 
the  realization  of  the  picture.  Now  she  was  definitely 
relegated  to  the  outskirts;  she  was  again  just  Mrs.  Lenoir's 
young  friend — with  this  change — that  he  cherished  a  pa- 
thetically amiable  grudge  against  her  for  the  loss  of  the 
picture.  How  much  he  knew  of  what  had  passed  between 
herself  and  his  son  on  that  last  evening,  she  was  not  aware ; 
but  he  knew  the  essence  of  it.  Though  in  charity  he  might 
refrain  from  censure,  she  had  been  an  occasion  of  sore  dis- 
tress to  his  best-beloved  son.  To  her  sensitive  mind,  in 
spite  of  his  kindness,  there  was  a  reserve  in  his  bearing;  he 
now  held  their  friendship  to  its  limits.  The  love  he  had 
borne  her  was  wounded  to  death  by  the  pain  she  had  given 
him.  She  could  imagine  his  thoughts  made  articulate  in 
21  315 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

the  words,  "You  sha'n't  have  it  in  your  power  to  hurt 
mine  and  me  again."  She  opened  her  eyes  to  the  fact  that 
she  had  lost  a  good  friend,  in  these  days  which  menaced  her, 
only  too  surely,  with  the  loss  of  a  dear  one.  This  chapter 
of  her  life  seemed  like  to  come  to  its  end — as  other  chapters 
had  before.  .  .  .  One  visitant  from  the  outside  world — the 
General  seemed  a  part  of  the  household — made  an  appear- 
ance in  the  person  of  Mrs.  Ladd.  She  came  to  call  on  Mrs. 
Lenoir,  unaware  of  her  illness;  it  was  one  of  the  patient's 
days  of  exhaustion,  and  Winnie  had  to  entertain  the  good 
lady,  and,  after  listening  to  her  appropriate  sympathy,  to 
hear  her  news.  She  had  come  back  to  England  alone. 
Rosaline  had  gone  to  stay  with  friends  at  Biarritz. 

"I  think  she  didn't  want  to  come  home  just  now,"  said 
Mrs.  Ladd,  with  a  glance  at  Winnie  which  plainly  fished  for 
information. 

"Mrs.  Lenoir  has  told  me  a  certain  impression  of  hers, 
which  I  didn't  form  for  myself  at  Bellaggio,"  Winnie  re- 
marked. "Are  you  referring  to  that,  Mrs.  Ladd?" 

"Yes.  Rosaline  told  me  that  you  suspected  nothing. 
But  since  it's  all  settled,  there's  no  harm  in  speaking  of  it 
now.  Sir  Axel  is  at  Biarritz  too.  I  think  they'll  probably 
be  married  as  they  pass  through  Paris  on  their  way  home." 

"Oh,  it's  as  settled  as  that,  is  it  ?"  Winnie's  speculations 
revived.  How  much  had  she  and  Mrs.  Lenoir  between  them 
contributed  to  the  settlement  ? 

"I  think  she's  right  to  bring  it  to  a  point.  It  avoids  all 
question."  Mrs.  Ladd  put  her  head  on  one  side.  "I've 
seen  Mr.  Maxon.  Of  course  he  doesn't  know  that  you've 
ever  seen  Rosaline  since — since  the  old  days — much  less  that 
you  had  anything  to  do  with  it  ?" 

"Had  I  ?     I  never  meant  to  have." 

316 


SHE    SUDDENLY    LEANED    FORWARD    AND    PATTED    WINNIE  S 

HAND 


A    FRIEND    DEPARTS 

"Oh,  I  think  so.  Rosaline  spoke  vaguely,  but  I  think 
something  in  your  manner — of  course  you  couldn't  help  it, 
and  you  didn't  know.  And,  as  I  say,  he  has  no  notion  of  it." 

"I'm  glad.  He'd  be  so  angry  with  me,  and  I  don't  want 
him  to  be  more  angry  than  he  must." 

"I  don't  think  he's  got  any  anger  to  spare  for  you.  He 
never  referred  to  you.  But  her!  Oh,  my  dear!"  Mrs. 
Ladd's  kindly  old  face  assumed  an  almost  frightened  ex- 
pression. "Well,  I  just  had  to  stop  him.  I  told  him 
Rosaline  was  my  friend,  and  that  I  wouldn't  listen  to  it. 
He  declared  that  he  had  a  promise  from  her,  and  that  on 
the  faith  of  it,  and  of  it  alone,  he — well,  you  know,  don't  you  ? 
Of  course  I  said  that  there  must  have  been  a  complete  mis- 
understanding, but  he  wouldn't  have  it.  Really,  we  all  but 
quarrelled,  if  not  quite." 

How  well  Winnie  knew!  The  domineering  man,  so  sure 
both  of  his  desires  and  of  his  claims,  so  confident  in  his 
version  of  the  facts,  so  impervious  to  any  other  impression 
of  them — from  out  the  past  the  picture  of  him  rose  complete. 

"I  knew,  of  course,  that  he  liked  his  own  way,"  said  Mrs. 
Ladd.  "  But,  really,  I  was  rather  startled."  She  suddenly 
leaned  forward  and  patted  Winnie's  hand.  No  words 
passed,  out  Winnie  understood  that  Mrs.  Ladd  had  been, 
to  some  extent  at  least,  revising  a  judgment,  and  wished  her 
to  know  it. 

"He'll  marry,  though — mark  my  words!  I  know  him, 
and  I  know  something  about  that  sort  of  man.  He'll  marry 
in  a  twelvemonth,  if  it's  only  to  show  Rosaline  he  can,  and 
to  hold  up  his  end  against  Mr.  Attlebury.  I  told  Mr. 
Attlebury  so.  'He's  taken  his  line,  and  he'll  go  through 
with  it,'  I  said,  'as  soon  as  he  finds  a  woman  to  help  him."3 

"What  did  Mr.  Attlebury  say  ?" 

31? 


MRS.  MAXON    PROTESTS 

"Nothing!  He  wouldn't  talk  about  it.  He  just  waved 
his  hands  in  that  way  he  has.  But  you  may  take  it  from 
me  that  that's  what  will  happen." 

The  prophecy,  born  of  the  old  woman's  amiable  worldly 
wisdom,  seemed  likely  of  fulfilment.  There  was  nothing 
Cyril  Maxon  hated  so  much  as  failure  or  the  imputation  of 
it,  nothing  he  prized  so  dearly  as  proving  himself  right,  to 
which  end  it  was  ever  necessary  to  refuse  to  admit  that  he 
had  been  wrong.  Winnie  seemed  to  hear  him  grimly  de- 
claring that,  since  he  had  taken  his  course,  not  Lady  Rosa- 
line, not  a  dozen  Attleburys,  should  turn  him  from  it. 
He  would  follow  it  to  the  end,  even  though  he  had  little  de- 
sire for  it;  antagonism  was  often  to  him  stimulus  enough. 
Thus  it  was  that  he  became  an  implacable  enemy  to  the 
liberty  of  those  about  him,  warring  with  them  if  they  as- 
serted any  independence,  tyrannizing  if  they  submitted. 
Such  people  create  resistance,  as  it  were  out  of  a  vacuum — 
even  a  wild  and  desperate  resistance,  which  takes  little  heed 
of  what  it  may  hurt  or  overthrow  in  its  struggle  against 
domination.  Venerable  institutions,  high  ideals,  personal 
loyalty  may  have  to  pay  the  price.  All  go  by  the  board  when 
the  limits  of  human  endurance  are  reached. 

Had  Winnie  Maxon  received  a  classical  education — the 
absence  of  which  had  not  in  her  case  proved  a  panacea 
against  all  forms  of  failure — she  might  have  found  in  wise 
old  Mrs.  Ladd  a  good  embodiment  of  the  Greek  Chorus — 
usually  people  with  little  business  of  their  own  (as  would 
appear  for  all  that  appears  to  the  contrary)  and  bent  on 
settling  other  people's  on  lines  safely  traditional;  yet  with 
a  salt  of  shrewdness,  not  revolutionaries,  but  brave  enough 
to  be  critics,  admitting  that  acceptance  and  submission 
present  their  difficulties — but  you  may  go  further,  and  fare 


A    FRIEND    DEPARTS 

worse  by  a  great  deal!  Those  limits  of  endurance  must  be 
stretched  as  far  as  possible. 

On  the  next  day  but  one,  the  expected  blow  fell.  Pneu- 
monia declared  itself;  the  patient  took  the  doctor's  diagnosis 
as  a  death  sentence — final,  hardly  unwelcome.  Her  nights 
were  pain;  day  brought  relief,  yet  increasing  weakness. 
Now  the  General  could  not  endure  much  of  the  sick-room; 
he  came,  but  his  visits  were  briefer.  Besides  his  grief  for 
his  friend,  some  distress  was  upon  him — distress  still  for 
her  sake,  perhaps  also  for  the  sake  of  others  who  had  gone 
before,  even  for  himself,  it  may  be.  He  knew  so  much 
more  than  Winnie  did.  Infinitely  tender  to  his  dying  friend, 
he  said  but  one  word  to  Winnie.  "When  I  suggest  that  she 
might  see  somebody  she  only  smiles." 

Winnie  understood  the  suggestion.  "We  must  all  of  us 
settle  that  for  ourselves  in  the  end,  mustn't  we  ?  I  think 
she  seems  happy — at  least,  quite  at  peace." 

He  made  a  fretful  gesture  of  protest.  She  had  no  right 
to  be  quite  at  peace.  He  lived  in  the  ideas  in  which  he  had 
been  bred.  If  he  had  offended  a  gentleman,  let  him  apolo- 
gize before  it  was  too  late.  Insensibly  he  applied  the 
parallel  from  the  seen  world  to  the  unseen — as,  indeed,  he 
had  been  taught.  His  mind  stuck  in  particular  categories 
of  conduct;  for  some  credit  was  to  be  given,  for  some  penal- 
ties had  to  be  paid;  it  was  a  system  of  marks  good  and  bad. 
Even  in  the  education  of  the  young  this  is  now  held  to  be  a 
disputable  theory. 

He  thought  that  he  had  known  very  intimately  his  dear 
old  friend  who  now  lay  dying.  He  found  that  he  knew  her 
very  little;  he  could  not  get  close  to  her  mind  at  the  end. 
For  Winnie  Maxon  she  had  one  more  revelation.  Mrs. 
Lenoir  would  not  "see  anybody" — she  also  detected  the 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

special  meaning,  and,  with  a  tired  smile,  repelled  the  sug- 
gestion— but  in  hints  and  fragments  she  displayed  to  Winnie 
in  what  mood  she  was  facing  death.  Courageously — 
almost  indifferently;  the  sun  was  set,  and  at  night  people  go 
to  bed — tired  people  they  are  generally.  She  had  not 
thought  much  of  responsibility,  of  a  reckoning;  she  suffered 
or  achieved  none  of  the  resulting  impulse  to  penitence;  she 
even  smiled  again  at  the  virtue  of  a  repentance  become  com- 
pulsory, because  it  was  possible  to  sin  no  more.  "Some 
women  I've  known  became  terribly  penitent  at  forty,"  she 
said  to  Winnie.  "I  never  knew  one  do  it  at  twenty-five." 
Her  attitude  seemed  to  say  that  she  had  been  born  such  and 
such  a  creature,  and,  accordingly,  had  done  such  and  such 
things — and  thus  had  lived  till  it  became  time  for  the  con- 
ditioned, hardly  voluntary,  life  of  the  creature  to  end.  On 
the  religious  side  it  was  pure  negation,  but  on  the  worldly 
there  was  something  positive.  As  verily  as  the  General,  as 
Bertie  Merriam  himself,  she  had  "played  the  game."  Her 
code  was  intact;  her  honor,  as  judged  by  it,  unsmirched. 
"I've  been  straight,  Winnie,"  she  said,  in  almost  the  last 
conscious  minute. 

Then  came  oblivion;  the  soul  was  rid  of  its  burden  many 
hours  before  the  body  was.  She  passed  from  the  life  in 
which  she  had  been  so  great  an  offender  against  the  rules, 
had  played  so  interesting  a  part,  had  done  so  many  kind 
things,  had  been  such  a  good  friend,  even  on  occasion  so 
resolute  a  resister  of  temptation — and  a  woman  not  to  be 
mentioned.  As  Winnie  wept  over  her  and  paid  her  the  last 
offices  of  love — for  she,  at  least,  had  received  the  purest  gold 
of  unseeking  love — her  heart  suffered  a  mighty  searching 
pang  of  tenderness.  Old  words,  of  old  time  familiar,  came 
back.  "I  was  an  hungered  and  ye  gave  me  meat;  I  was 

320 


A    FRIEND    DEPARTS 

thirsty  and  ye  gave  me  drink;  I  was  a  stranger  and  ye  took 
me  in."     Such  things  had  her  dead  friend  done  for  her. 

An  exaltation  and  a  confidence  took  hold  on  her  after  she 
had  kissed  the  cold  brow.  But  outside  the  room  stood  the 
old  General,  sad,  gray,  heavy  of  face.  His  voice  was 
broken,  his  hands  tremulous. 

"I  wish — I  wish  she'd  have  seen  somebody,  Winnie!" 
Winnie  threw  herself  into  his  arms,  and  looked  up  at  him, 
her  eyes  streaming  with  tears.     "Dear  General,  she  sees 
nothing  or  she  sees  God.     Why  are  we  to  be  afraid  ?" 


XXVII 

A    PHILOSOPHICAL   PROJECT 

MRS.  LENOIR  did  not,  as  the  phrase  runs,  "do  as  much 
for"  Winnie  Maxon  as  she  had  been  prepared  to  do 
for  the  prospective  Mrs.  Bertie  Merriam.  Perhaps  because, 
though  she  had  accepted  the  decision,  her  disappointment 
over  the  issue  persisted.  Perhaps  merely  because,  as  mat- 
ters now  stood,  her  bounty  would  not  go  in  the  end  to  benefit 
her  old  friend's  stock.  After  providing  an  annuity  for  her 
precious  Emily,  and  bequeathing  a  few  personal  relics  to 
the  General,  she  left  to  Winnie  the  furniture  of  her  flat  and 
fifteen  hundred  pounds.  The  residue  which  was  at  her  dis- 
position she  gave  —  it  may  be  with  a  parting  kick  at  re- 
spectability, it  may  be  because  she  thought  he  would  enjoy 
it  most — to  her  favorite,  and  the  least  meritorious,  of  the 
General's  sons — the  one  who  went  in  for  too  much  polo  and 
private  theatricals  in  India. 

"There's  no  immediate  need  for  you  to  hurry  out  of 
here,"  the  General  added;  he  was  the  executor.  "The 
rent  must  be  paid  till  the  summer  anyhow,  and  Clara  told 
me  that  she  wished  you  to  stay  till  then  if  you  liked.  I've 
no  doubt  Emily  will  stay  with  you." 

"It  was  very  kind  of  her,  but  I  can't  afford  to  live  here 
long." 

"Oh,  well,  just  while  you  look  about  you,  anyhow.  And 

322 


A    PHILOSOPHICAL    PROJECT 

if  there's  anything  I  can  do  for  you,  you  won't  hesitate  to 
let  me  know,  will  you  ?" 

Winnie  promised  to  call  upon  his  services  if  she  required 
them,  but  again  the  feeling  came  over  her  that,  however 
kind  and  obliging  he  might  be,  the  General  did  in  his  heart 
— even  if  unwillingly — regard  their  connection  with  each 
other  as  over.  The  bond  which  Mrs.  Lenoir  had  made 
was  broken;  that  other  and  closer  bond  had  never  come 
into  existence.  It  would  have  been  unjust  to  say  that  the 
General  was  washing  his  hands  of  her.  It  was  merely  a 
recognition  of  facts  to  admit  that  fate — the  course  of  events 
— was  performing  the  operation  for  him.  They  had  no 
longer  any  purchase  on  each  other's  lives,  any  common 
interest  to  unite  them.  His  only  surviving  concern  now 
was  in  his  three  sons,  and  it  had  been  irrevocably  decided 
that  there  Winnie  was  not  to  count. 

The  consciousness  of  this  involuntary  drifting  apart  from 
the  old  man  whom  she  liked  and  admired  for  his  gentleness 
and  his  loyalty  intensified  the  loneliness  with  which  Mrs. 
Lenoir's  death  afflicted  Winnie.  She  was  in  no  better  case 
now  than  when  her  friend  had  rescued  her  from  the  empty 
studio  and  thereby  seemed  to  open  to  her  a  new  life.  The 
new  life,  too,  was  gone  with  the  friend  who  had  given  it. 
Looking  back  on  her  career  since  she  had  left  Cyril  Maxon's 
roof,  she  saw  the  same  thing  happening  again  and  again. 
She  had  made  friends  and  lost  them;  she  had  picked  them 
up,  walked  with  them  to  the  next  fork  in  the  road,  and 
there  parted  company.  "Is  it  mere  chance,  or  something 
in  me,  or  something  in  my  position  ?"  she  asked  herself.  A 
candid  survey  could  not  refuse  the  conclusion  that  the  posi- 
tion had  contributed  largely  to  the  result.  The  case  of 
Godfrey  Ledstone,  the  more  trivial  instance  of  Bob  Purnett, 

323 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

was  there  to  prove  it.  The  position  had  been  a  vital  and 
practically  exclusive  factor  in  bringing  about  her  parting 
from  Bertie  Merriam;  she  had  an  idea  that  its  action  was 
to  be  traced  in  the  continued  absence  and  silence  of  Dick 
Dennehy.  The  same  thing  which  had  parted  her  from  her 
men  friends  had  forbidden  her  friendships  with  women. 
She  could,  she  felt,  have  made  a  friend  of  Amy  Ledstone. 
To-day  she  would  have  liked  to  make  a  friend  of  kindly, 
shrewd  old  Mrs.  Ladd;  but  though  Mrs.  Ladd  came  to 
see  her  at  the  flat  which  had  been  Mrs.  Lenoir's,  she  re- 
ceived no  invitation  to  Mrs.  Ladd's  house.  The  pressure 
of  public  opinion,  the  feelings  of  Mr.  Attlebury's  congrega- 
tion, the  "awkwardness"  which  would  arise  with  Mrs. 
Ladd's  old,  if.  too  exacting,  friend  Cyril  Maxon,  forbade. 
The  one  friendship  which  had  proved  able  to  resist  the  dis- 
integrating influence  was  ended  now  by  death. 

Well,  great  benefits  cannot  reasonably  be  expected  for 
nothing.  If  she  was  alone,  she  was  also  free — wonderfully 
free.  And,  of  a  certainty,  complete  freedom  can  seldom 
be  achieved  save  at  the  cost  of  a  voluntary  or  involuntary 
severing  of  ties.  Must  every  one  then  be  either  a  slave  or  a 
solitary  ?  She  was  not  so  soured  as  to  accept  that  conclu- 
sion. She  knew  that  there  was  a  way  out — only  she  had 
not  found  it.  The  Aikenheads  had,  down  at  Shaylor's 
Patch!  Thither — to  her  old  haven — her  thoughts  turned 
•  longingly.  While  it  stood,  she  did  it  injustice  in  calling 
herself  friendless.  Yet  to  retire  to  that  pleasant  seclusion 
went  against  pride;  it  seemed  like  a  retreat,  a  confession 
that  the  world  had  been  too  much  for  her,  that  she  was 
beaten.  She  was  not  prepared  to  acknowledge  herself 
beaten — at  least,  not  by  the  enemy  in  a  fair,  square  fight. 
Her  disasters  were  due  to  the  defection  of  her  allies.  So 

324 


A    PHILOSOPHICAL    PROJECT 

she  insisted,  as  she  sat  long  hours  alone  in  the  flat — ah, 
now  so  quiet  indeed! 

Shaylor's  Patch  had  not  forgotten  her.  The  Aikenheads 
did  not  attend  their  friend  Mrs.  Lenoir's  funeral — they  had 
a  theory  antagonistic  to  graveside  gatherings,  which  was 
not  totally  lacking  in  plausibility — but  Stephen  had  written 
to  her,  promising  to  come  and  see  her  as  soon  as  he  could 
get  to  town.  He  came  there  very  seldom — Winnie,  indeed, 
had  never  met  him  in  London — and  it  was  above  a  fortnight 
before  he  made  his  appearance  at  the  flat.  Delighted  as 
Winnie  was  by  his  visit,  her  glad  welcome  was  almost 
smothered  in  amazement  at  his  appearance.  He  wore 
the  full  uniform  of  a  man  about  town,  all  in  the  latest  fashion, 
from  the  curl  of  the  brim  of  his  silk  hat  to  the  exact  cut  of 
his  coat-tails.  Save  that  his  hair  was  a  trifle  long  and  full, 
he  was  a  typical  Londoner,  dressed  for  a  ceremonial  occasion. 
As  it  was,  he  would  pass  well  for  a  poet  with  social  ambitions. 

"Good  gracious!"  said  Winnie,  holding  up  her  hands. 
"You  got  up  like  that,  Stephen!" 

"Yes,  I  think  I  can  hold  my  own  in  Piccadilly,"  said 
Stephen,  complacently  regarding  himself  in  the  long  gilt 
mirror.  "I  believe  I  once  told  you  I  had  atavistic  streaks  ? 
This  is  one  of  them.  I  can  mention  my  opinions  if  I  want 
to — and  I  generally  do;  but  there's  no  need  for  my  coat  and 
hat  to  go  yelling  them  out  in  the  street.  That's  my  view; 
of  course  it  isn't  in  the  least  Tora's.  She  thinks  me  an 
awful  fool  for  doing  it." 

Winnie  did  not  feel  it  necessary  to  settle  this  difficult  point 
in  the  philosophy  of  clothes — on  which  eminent  men  hold 
widely  varying  opinions,  as  anybody  who  takes  his  walks 
abroad  and  keeps  his  eyes  open  for  the  celebrities  of  the 
day  will  have  no  difficulty  in  observing. 

325 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

"Well,  at  any  rate,  I  think  you  look  awfully  nice — quite 
handsome!  I  expect  Tora's  just  afraid  of  your  being  too 
fascinating  in  your  best  clothes." 

He  sat  down  with  a  laugh  and  looked  across  at  her  in- 
quiringly. "  Pretty  cheerful,  Winnie  ?" 

"Not  so  very  particularly.  I  do  feel  her  loss  awfully,  you 
know.  I  was  very  fond  of  her,  and  it  seems  to  leave  me  so 
adrift.  I  had  an  anchorage  here,  but  the  anchor  won't  hold 
any  more." 

"Come  and  anchor  at  Shaylor's  Patch.  The  anchor 
always  holds  there  for  you." 

Winnie  both  made  her  confession  and  produced  her 
objections  "I  can't  deny  I've  been  thinking  of  you  rather 
wistfully  in  these  melancholy  days,  but  it  seems  like — like 
giving  up." 

"Not  a  bit  of  it.  You  can  be  absolutely  in  the  thick  of 
the  fight  there  if  you  like."  He  looked  across  at  her  with 
his  whimsical  smile.  "I'm  actually  going  to  do  something 
at  last,  Winnie.  I'm  about  to  start  on  my  life's  work.  I'm 
going  to  do  a  Synopsis  of  Social  Philosophy" 

"It  sounds  like  a  life's  work,"  Winnie  remarked.  His 
society  always  cheered  her,  and  already  her  manner  showed 
something  of  its  normal  gayety. 

"Yes,  it's  a  big  job,  but  I'm  a  healthy  man.  You  see,  I 
shall  take  all  the  great  fellows  from  the  earliest  time  down 
to  to-day,  and  collect  from  them  everything  that  bears  on 
the  questions  that  we  of  to-day  have  to  face — not  worrying 
about  their  metaphysics  and  that  sort  of  stuff",  but  taking 
what  bears  on  the  things  we've  really  got  to  settle — the  live 
things,  you  know.  See  the  idea  ?  There'll  be  a  section  on 
Education,  for  instance,  one  on  Private  Property,  one  on 
Marriage,  one  on  Women  and  Labor.  I  want  it  to  reach 

326 


A    PHILOSOPHICAL    PROJECT 

the  masses,  so  all  the  excerpts  will  be  in  English.  Then 
each  section  will  have  an  appendix,  in  which  I  shall  collate 
the  excerpts,  and  point  out  the  main  lines  of  agreement  and 
difference.  Perhaps  I  shall  add  a  few  suggestions  of  my 
own." 

"I  think  you  very  likely  will,  Stephen." 

"Now  don't  you  think  it's  a  ripping  idea?  Of  course 
I  shall  take  in  poetry  and  novels  and  plays,  as  well  as 
philosophers  and  historians.  A  comparison  between  Lecky 
and  Ibsen,  for  instance!  Bound  to  be  fruitful!  Oh,  it '11 
be  a  big  job,  but  I  mean  to  put  it  through."  He  leaned 
forward  to  her.  "That's  not  giving  up,  is  it?  That's 
fighting!  And  the  point  is — you  can  help  me.  You  see 
there'll  be  no  end  of  books  to  read,  just  to  see  if  there's  any- 
thing of  possible  use  in  them.  You  can  do  lots  of  spade 
work  for  me.  Besides,  you've  got  very  good  judgment." 

"Wouldn't  Tora  help  you  better  than  I  could  ?" 

His  eyes  twinkled.  "I  wouldn't  trust  Tora,  and  I've 
told  her  so  plainly.  She's  so  convinced  of  what  she  thinks 
herself  that  she  considers  the  other  view  all  nonsense — or 
if  she  did  hit  on  a  particularly  clever  fellow  who  put  the  case 
too  well  against  her,  it's  my  firm  belief  that  she'd  have  no 
scruple  about  suppressing  him.  Yours  is  much  more  the 
mind  for  me.  We're  inquirers,  not  dogmatists,  you  and  I. 
With  you,  and  a  secretary  learned  in  tongues,  and  a  couple 
of  typewriters,  we  shall  make  a  hole  in  the  work  in  no  time." 

Winnie  could  not  be  sure  that  he  was  not  building  a 
golden  bridge  for  her  retreat.  Perhaps  she  did  not  wish  to 
risk  being  made  quite  sure.  The  plan  sounded  so  attractive. 
What  things  she  would  read  and  learn!  And  it  was  cer- 
tainly possible  to  argue  that  she  would  still  be  fighting 
the  battle  of  liberty  and  progress.  After  all,  is  it  not  the 

327 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

students  who  really  set  the  line  of  advance  ?  They  originate 
the  ideas,  which  some  day  or  other  the  practical  men  carry 
out.  It  was  Moltke  who  won  the  campaign,  not  the  generals 
in  the  field.  Such  was  the  plea  which  inclination  offered  to 
persuade  pride. 

"But,  Stephen,  apart  from  anything  else,  it  would  mean 
quartering  myself  on  you  practically  forever!" 

"What  if  it  did  ?  But,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  Tora  thought 
you'd  like  to  have  your  own  place.  You  remember  that 
cottage  Godfrey  had  ?  He  took  it  furnished;  but  it's  to 
be  let  on  lease  unfurnished  now,  and  if  you  liked  it — " 

"Oh,  I  shouldn't  mind  it.  And  Mrs.  Lenoir  has  left  me 
her  furniture." 

"The  whole  thing  works  out  beautifully,"  Stephen  de- 
clared. He  grew  a  little  graver.  "Come  and  try  it,  any- 
how. Look  here — I'll  take  the  cottage,  and  sublet  it  to  you. 
Then  you  can  give  it  up  at  any  moment,  if  you  get  sick  of  it. 
We  shall  be  a  jolly  little  colony.  Old  Dick  Dennehy's 
house — you  remember  how  we  put  him  up  to  it  ? — is  almost 
finished,  and  he'll  be  in  it  in  six  months.  Of  course  he'll 
hate  the  Synopsis,  and  we  shall  have  lots  of  fun  with  him." 

"Oh,  my  dear,  you're  good!"  sighed  Winnie — and  a  smile 
followed  the  sigh.  For  suddenly  life  and  activity,  com- 
radeship and  gayety,  crossed  her  path  again.  The  thing 
was  not  over.  It  had  almost  seemed  over — there  in  the 
lonely  flat.  "How  is  dear  old  Dick  Dennehy  ?"  she  asked. 

"We've  hardly  seen  him — he's  only  been  down  once. 
He's  left  me  to  build  his  house  for  him,  and  says  encourag- 
ingly that  he  doesn't  care  a  hang  what  it's  like.  He's  been 
settling  into  his  new  job,  I  suppose.  After  a  bit,  perhaps, 
he'll  be  more  amiable  and  accessible.  You'll  come  and 
give  it  a  trial,  Winnie  ?"  He  got  up  and  came  over  to  her. 

328 


A    PHILOSOPHICAL    PROJECT 

"You've  done  enough  off  your  own  bat,"  he  said.  "I  don't 
quite  know  how  to  put  it  to  you,  but  what  I  think  I  mean 
is  that  no  single  person  does  any  good  by  more  than  one 
protest.  Intelligent  people  recognize  that;  but  if  you  go 
on,  you  get  put  down  not  as  a  Protestant,  but  just  as  an 
anarchist — like  our  poor  dear  old  friend  here,  you  know." 

He  touched,  with  a  true  and  discerning  hand,  on  one  of 
the  great  difficulties.  If  you  were  burned  at  the  stake  for 
conscience  sake,  it  was  hard  to  question  your  sincerity — 
though  it  appears  that  an  uncalled-for  and  wanton  quest  of 
even  the  martyr's  crown  was  not  always  approved  by  the 
soberer  heads  of  and  in  the  Churches.  It  was  far  harder 
to  make  people  believe  or  understand  that  what  you  wanted 
to  do  might  seem  also  what  it  was  your  duty  to  do — that  the 
want  made  the  duty.  Only  because  the  want  was  great — a 
thing  which  must  be  satisfied  if  a  human  life  were  not  to  be 
fruitlessly  wasted — did  the  duty  become  imperative.  A 
doctrine  true,  perhaps,  but  perilous!  Its  professors  should 
be  above  suspicion. 

"It's  awfully  difficult,"  Stephen  went  on,  stroking  his 
forehead  the  while.  "It's  war,  you  see,  and  in  any  war 
worth  arguing  about  both  sides  have  a  lot  to  say  for  them- 
selves. We  shall  bring  that  out  in  the  Synopsis." 

"Don't  be  too  impartial,  Stephen!" 

"No,  I've  got  my  side  —  but  the  other  fellows  shall 
have  a  fair  show."  His  smile  grew  affectionate.  "But  I 
think  you're  entitled  to  come  out  of  the  fighting  line  and 
go  into  the  organizing  department — whatever  it's  called 
technically." 

"I'll  tell  you  all  about  it  some  day.  I'll  wait  a  little.  I 
seem  only  just  to  be  getting  a  view  of  it." 

"You're  very  young.     You  may  have  a  bit  more  practical 

329 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

work  to  deal  with  still.  At  any  rate,  I  shall  be  very  glad 
to  hear  all  about  it."  He  rose  and  took  his  resplendent  silk 
hat — that  symbol  of  a  sentimental  attachment  to  the  old 
order,  from  which  he  sprang,  to  which  his  sceptical  mind 
had  so  many  questions  to  put.  "Look  here,  Winnie,  I  be- 
lieve you've  been  thinking  life  was  finished — at  any  rate, 
not  seeing  any  new  start  in  it.  Here's  one — take  it.  It  '11 
develop.  The  only  way  to  put  a  stopper  on  life  is  to  refuse 
to  go  along  the  open  lines.  Don't  do  that."  He  smiled. 
"I  rather  think  we  started  you  from  Shaylor's  Patch  once. 
We  may  do  it  again." 

The  plain  truth  came  suddenly  in  a  burst  from  her.  "  I'm 
so  tired,  Stephen!" 

He  laid  down  the  hat  again  and  took  her  two  hands  in  his. 
"The  Svnopsis  will  be  infinitely  restful,  Winnie.  I'm  going 
straight  back  to  take  the  cottage,  and  begin  to  whitewash  it. 
Send  me  word  when  you're  ready  to  come.  I'll  tell  you  the 
truth  before  I  go — or  sha'n't  I  ?  Yes,  I  will,  because,  as  I've 
told  you  before  now,  you've  got  pluck.  You  tell  yourself 
you're  facing  things  by  staying  here.  You're  not.  You're 
hiding  from  things — and  people.  There  are  people  you  fear 
to  meet,  from  one  reason  or  another,  in  London,  aren't 
there  ?  Leave  all  that  then.  Come  and  live  and  work  with 
us — and  get  your  nerve  back." 

She  looked  at  him  in  a  long  silence,  then  drew  her  breath. 
"Yes,  I  think  you're  right.  I've  turned  afraid."  She 
threw  out  her  arms  in  a  spreading  gesture.  "Here  it  is  so 
big — and  it  takes  no  notice  of  me!  On  it  goes — on — on!" 

"You  didn't  expect  to  stop  it,  all  on  your  own,  did  you  ?" 
asked  Stephen,  smiling. 

"Or  if  it  does  take  notice  for  a  minute,  half  of  it  shudders, 
and  the  other  half  sniggers !  Is  there  nothing  in  between  ?" 

33° 


A    PHILOSOPHICAL    PROJECT 

"Oh,  well,  those  are  the  two  attitudes  of  conservatism. 
Always  have  been — and,  I  suppose,  always  with  a  good  deal 
of  excuse.  We  do  blunder,  and  we  have  a  knack  of  attract- 
ing ridiculous  people.  It  sets  us  back,  but  it  can't  be  helped. 
We  win  in  the  end."  He  took  up  his  hat  again.  "And  the 
Synopsis  is  going  to  leaven  the  lump.  Send  me  a  wire  to- 
morrow, Winnie,  and  the  whitewashing  shall  begin!" 

Faith,  patience,  candor — these  were  the  three  great 
qualities;  these  composed  the  temper  needed  for  the  work. 
Stephen  Aikenhead  had  them,  and,  even  though  he  never 
put  himself  to  the  ordeal  of  experience,  nay,  even  though  he 
never  finished  the  Synopsis  (a  contingency  likely  enough), 
encouragement  radiated  from  him,  and  thus  his  existence  was 
justified  and  valuable.  There  were  bigots  on  both  sides, 
and  every  cause  counted  some  fools  among  its  adherents. 
Probably,  indeed,  every  individual  in  the  world,  however 
wise  and  open-minded  in  the  sum,  had  his  spot  of  bigotry 
and  his  strain  of  folly.  After  Stephen's  departure  Winnie 
did  much  moralizing  along  these  and  similar  lines,  but  her 
moralizing  was  at  once  more  cheerful  and  more  tolerant  than 
it  had  been  before  he  came.  She  had  a  greater  charity 
toward  her  enemy,  the  world — even  toward  the  shudders 
and  the  sniggers.  Why,  the  regiment  would  have  been 
divided  between  shudders  and  sniggers — exactly  the  atti- 
tudes which  Bertie  Merriam  had  sketched — and  yet  she  had 
felt,  under  his  inspiration,  both  liking  and  respect  for  the 
regiment.  Why  not  then  for  that  greater  regiment,  the 
world  ?  Liking  and  respect,  yes — but  not,  therefore,  assent 
or  even  acquiescence.  And  on  her  own  proceedings,  too, 
Stephen  enabled  her  to  cast  new  eyes — eyes  more  open  to 
the  humorous  aspect,  taking  a  juster  view  of  how  much  she 
might  have  expected  to  do  and  could  reasonably  consider 
22  331 


MRS.  MAXON    PROTESTS 

herself  to  have  done.  Both  seemed  to  come  to  very  little 
compared  with  the  wear  and  tear  of  the  effort.  But,  then, 
if  everybody  did  even  a  very  little — why,  the  lump  would 
be  leavened,  as  Stephen  said. 

Three  days  later — just  after  she  had  made  up  her  mind 
for  Shaylor's  Patch  and  the  Synopsis,  and  had  given  notice 
to  the  General — and  to  Emily — of  her  approaching  depar- 
ture, there  came  a  short  note  from  the  obstinately  absent  and 
invisible  Dick  Dennehy.  It  was  on  the  official  notepaper  of 
the  great  journal: 

"I  hear  from  Tora  that  you're  going  back  to  Shaylor's 
Patch,  to  settle  down  there  quietly.  Thank  God  for  it! 
Perhaps  I  shall  see  you  there  before  very  long,  but  I'm  still 
very  busy. — Yours,  R.  D." 

She  read  with  a  mixture  of  affection  and  resentment. 
She  had  been  arriving  at  her  own  verdict  on  her  efforts  and 
adventures.  Here  was  Dick  Dennehy's!  He  thanked  God 
that  efforts  and  adventures  were  at  an  end,  and  that  she  was 
going  to  settle  down  quietly — in  fact,  to  take  care  of  herself, 
as  he  had  put  it  that  evening  when  he  walked  with  her  to 
the  railway  station.  A  very  unjust  verdict,  thought  Winnie, 
but  then — she  added,  smiling — "It's  only  old  Dick  Den- 
nehy's!" What  else  was  to  be  expected  from  him — from 
him  who  liked  her  so  much  and  disapproved  of  her  "goings- 
on"  so  strenuously?  What  about  his  own  ?  How  was  he 
settling  that  question  of  his  ?  Or  how  had  he  settled  it  ? 
That  problem  which  was  "not  serious"!  "Perhaps  I  shall 
see  you"!  Only  "perhaps"  ?  Yet  she  was  going  to  settle 
down  at  Nether  End,  and  he  was  building  his  house  there. 
The  probabilities  of  an  encounter  between  them  seemed  to 

332 


A    PHILOSOPHICAL    PROJECT 

warrant  more  than  "perhaps."  The  atmosphere  of  the 
railway  waiting-room,  the  look  on  his  face,  that  shout, 
muffled  by  engine-snorts,  about  somebody  being  a  fool — 
they  all  came  back  to  her.  "  But  I'm  very  busy" — meaning 
thereby — Winnie  took  leave  to  add  the  innuendo — "I  sha'n't 
be  able  to  see  you  often!"  Irresistibly  her  lips  curved  into 
a  smile.  It  looked  as  if  the  problem  weren't  quite  settled 
yet!  If  it  were  finally  settled  either  way,  why  should  Dick 
be  so  busy,  so  entirely  unable  to  give  reasonable  attention  to 
his  house,  or — as  Stephen  had  told  her — to  care  a  hang  about 
it? 

"Oh,  nonsense!"  Winnie  contrived  to  say  to  herself, 
though  not  with  absolute  conviction.  "If  it  ever  was  that, 
he  must  have  got  over  it  by  now,  and  I  shall  bury  myself  in 
the  Synopsis  ." 

It  was  really  rather  soon  to  find  herself  pitted  against 
another  institution! 


XXVIII 

THE   VIEW  FROM  A   HOUSE 

WINNIE  shut  Doctor  Westermarck  on  The  Origin  and 
Development  of  the  Moral  Ideas  with  a  bang.  "I'm 
not  going  to  do  any  more  at  the  Synopsis  to-day,"  she  an- 
nounced. "It's  much  too  fine.  And  what  are  you  chuck- 
ling at,  Stephen  ?" 

With  the  help  of  Liddell  and  Scott  and  a  crib  Stephen  was 
digesting  Aristophanes'  skit  on  Socrates.  "An  awful  old 
Tory,  but  it's  dashed  good  stuff.  On  no  account  work  if 
you  don't  want  to,  Winnie.  This  job's  not  to  be  done  in  a 
day,  you  know." 

It  certainly  was  not — and  least  of  all  in  one  of  his  working 
days,  in  which  the  labor  of  research  was  constantly  checked 
by  the  incursion  of  distantly  related  argument.  Winnie 
could  not  make  out  how  far  he  was  in  earnest  about  the 
Synopsis.  Sometimes  he  would  talk  about  its  completion — 
and  the  consequent  amelioration  of  society — in  sanguine 
words,  yet  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye;  at  other  moments  he 
would  declare  in  an  apparent  despair  that  it  was  properly 
the  work  of  fifty  men,  and  forthwith  abandon  for  the  day 
a  labor  impossibly  Herculean.  Tora  maintained  toward 
the  great  undertaking  an  attitude  of  serene  scorn;  she  did 
not  see  the  use  of  delving  into  dark  ages  in  search  of  the 
light  which  only  now,  at  last,  was  glimmering  on  the  horizon 

334 


WINNIE     SHUT     DOCTOR     WESTERMARCK     ON       THE     ORIGIN 
AND  DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE  MORAL  IDEAS"  WITH  A   BANG 


THE    VIEW    FROM    A    HOUSE 

of  the  future.  Alice,  however,  was  all  for  the  Synopsis, 
it  was  to  make  her  father  famous,  and  itself  became  famous 
among  her  schoolmates  these  many  years  before  there  was 
the  least  chance  of  its  coming  to  birth.  "To  find  out  all  that 
any  one  ever  said  since  the  world  began,  and  tell  us  whether 
it's  true  or  not,"  was  Alice's  handsome  description  of  the 
proposed  work;  no  wonder  the  schoolmates  were  impressed. 

Though  the  "awful  old  Tory"  might  well  have  seen  in 
Shaylor's  Patch  a  lesser  Phrontisterion,  to  Winnie  Maxon 
the  passage  of  the  summer  months  there  proved  a  rest-cure. 
The  tissues  of  brain  and  heart  recovered.  She  was  neither 
oppressed  as  in  the  days  of  her  marriage,  nor  hurried  from 
emotion  to  emotion  as  in  the  period  of  struggle  which  had 
followed  her  escape.  Her  memories — of  exultation,  of  pain, 
of  poignant  feeling — softened  in  outline;  becoming  in  some 
degree  external  to  all  that  she  had  done  and  suffered,  she 
was  the  better  able  to  assess  it  and  to  estimate  where  it  left 
her.  A  great  gulf  separated  her  from  the  woman  who  had 
fled  from  Cyril  Maxon;  yet  the  essential  woman  had  passed 
through  the  flood  of  the  gulf  undrowned — with  all  her  po- 
tentialities of  life,  with  her  spirit  schooled,  but  not  broken. 
This  is,  perhaps,  to  say  that  she  had  fought  a  drawn  battle 
with  the  world;  if  it  really  came  to  that,  it  was  no  mean 
achievement. 

Dick  Dennehy's  new  house  was  finished — at  least  it 
wanted  only  its  last  coat  of  paint  and,  if  the  weather  held 
fine,  would  soon  be  dry  enough  to  receive  it  profitably.  By 
fits  and  starts  consignments  of  its  necessary  gear — conceived 
on  extremely  Spartan  lines — arrived  from  London.  But  the 
master  of  it  had  himself  made  no  appearance.  Every  in- 
vitation from  Shaylor's  Patch — and  now  and  then  the  in- 
vitation amounted  to  an  entreaty,  since  Tora  could  not  for 

335 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

the  life  of  her  make  out  what  he  wanted  done  at  the  house 
— was  met  by  protestations  of  absorbing  work.  The  prob- 
lem which  Winnie's  imagination  had  forecasted  did  not 
arise — or  at  least  it  exhibited  no  development.  Dick's  ob- 
stinate absence  did  not  disprove  its  existence,  but  might  be 
said  to  suspend  its  animation.  Winnie,  dwelling  in  the 
cottage  where  Godfrey  Ledstone  once  abode,  had  a  rest 
from  the  other  sex;  here,  too,  a  truce  was  called,  after  her 
brisk  series  of  engagements.  She  welcomed  it;  it  would 
have  seemed  shallow  to  pass  too  quickly  from  the  thought 
of  Bertie  Merriam.  She  neither  rejected  nor  winced  at  the 
idea  that  the  truce  might  be  perpetual.  With  Dennehy  still 
away,  the  thought  of  the  problem  died  down,  leaving  traces 
only  in  the  compassionate  amusement  with  which  she  again, 
from  time  to  time,  reflected  that  he  had  "got  over  it."  She 
acquiesced  very  willingly  in  the  conclusion.  As  matters 
stood,  life  was  full,  pleasant,  peaceful,  and  fruitful  in  the 
growth  of  her  mind. 

"I  don't  know  whether  you'll  ever  transform  the  world, 
but  at  least  you're  educating  one  ignorant  woman,  Stephen," 
she  said. 

Doctor  Westermarck  being  finished,  Stephen  had,  with  a 
sudden  jump,  transferred  her  to  the  study  of  Utopias,  old 
and  new;  for  these,  of  course,  must  figure  in  the  Synopsis. 

"Ah,  you  bring  some  knowledge  of  life  with  you  now. 
That  makes  learning  ever  so  much  easier."  He  smiled  at 
her.  "I  really  ought  to  go  and  get  into  some  scrapes  too. 
But  there — I  couldn't  put  my  heart  into  the  job,  so  it 
wouldn't  be  much  use." 

" Wouldn't  Tora  object?" 

"I'm  the  one  exception  which  mars  the  otherwise  per- 
fect harmony  of  Tora's  conception  of  the  male  sex.  She 

336 


THE    VIEW    FROM    A    HOUSE 

would  be  bound  to  greet  any  lapse  on  my  part  with  scientific 
exultation.  But,  I  say,  I'm  not  going  to  have  you  burying 
yourself  in  the  Synopsis." 

"That's  just  what  I  came  here  to  do — exactly  as  I  put  it 
to  myself!" 

"You  sha'n't  do  it.  You're  much  too  young  and  pretty. 
I  shall  get  some  young  men  down,  to  tempt  you." 

Two  or  three  young  men  came,  but  they  did  not  tempt 
Winnie.  She  found  herself  possessed  by  a  great  caution. 
Her  old  confidence  in  her  own  impulses  was  replaced  by 
a  deep  distrust  of  any  impulse.  She  stood  on  the  defensive 
against  the  approach  of  even  a  liking;  she  constituted  her- 
self aJvocatus  diaholi  whenever  Stephen  ventured  to  praise 
any  of  his  young  friends.  She  found  one  shallow  and  con- 
ceited, another  learned,  but  a  bore,  a  third — well,  there  were 
limits  to  the  allowable  degree  of  ugliness,  now  weren't  there  ? 
Stephen  laughed;  his  poor  friends  were  contributing  to  the 
payment  of  a  score  run  up  by  other  men. 

At  last  in  very  decency  Dick  Dennehy  had  to  come; 
Stephen  sent  him  word  that,  as  he  had  built  the  house,  so 
he  would  pull  it  down,  if  its  owner  continued  to  show  such 
a  want  of  appreciation  of  his  friendly  labors.  He  arrived 
early  one  afternoon  in  mid-September.  He  was  perceptibly 
changed;  being  broken  into  London  harness  had  set  its 
mark  on  him  in  manner  and  in  appearance.  He  was  better 
groomed,  his  hair  had  been  persuaded  to  lie  down,  he  had 
cut  off  the  upturned  bristly  ends  of  his  mustache.  His 
brogue  had  lost  in  richness;  he  said  "ye"  much  seldomer 
when  he  meant  "you."  His  ways  were  quieter,  his  argu- 
ments less  tempestuous,  and  his  contradictions  not  so  pas- 
sionate. Though  thus  a  little  outwardly  and  possibly  in- 
wardly conventionalized,  he  displayed  all  his  old  friendly 

337 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

heartiness  in  his  greeting  of  Tora  and  Stephen — Alice  had 
just  gone  back  to  school.  Only  when  he  turned  to  Winnie, 
who  was  in  the  garden  with  them,  did  a  shade  of  constraint 
appear  in  his  demeanor.  She  put  it  down  to  the  memory 
of  the  note  he  had  sent  her;  she  had  not  replied,  and  prob- 
ably he  thought  that  she  had  resented  it. 

The  constraint  was  due  to  a  deeper  cause.  He  had  de- 
termined not  to  make  love  to  Winnie  Maxon,  and  now,  at 
the  sight  of  her,  he  found  that  he  wanted  to  do  it,  and  that 
the  assurances  which  he  had  managed  to  make  to  himself 
that  he  would  not  want  to  do  it — at  least  would  not  be 
seriously  tempted  to  do  it — were  all  in  vain.  In  loyalty  to 
his  convictions,  and  in  accordance  with  a  personal  obstinacy 
which  buttressed  the  convictions,  all  these  months  he  had 
fought  his  fight.  Winnie  was  forbidden  to  him;  he  had 
taken  no  pains  to  conceal  his  views  from  his  and  her  friends; 
he  had  taken  great  pains  to  conceal  his  feelings  from  her, 
and  conceived  that  he  had,  in  the  main  at  least,  succeeded. 
But  for  that  house  of  his — but  for  wounding  the  Aikenheads' 
feelings — he  would  have  given  himself  a  little  longer  period 
of  quarantine.  Yet  he  had  felt  pretty  safe  until  he  saw 
Winnie.  And  he  had  brought  his  bag;  he  was  booked  for 
a  three  days'  stay — there  in  the  very  zone  of  danger. 

"I  was  a  fool  to  come,"  he  kept  saying  to  himself,  while 
he  was  being  politely,  and  now  and  then  urgently,  requested 
to  take  note  of  and  to  admire  this  and  that  feature  of  his 
new  house.  In  truth  he  could  take  very  little  interest  in 
the  house,  for  it  had  come  over  him,  with  sudden  but  irre- 
sistible certainty,  that  he  would  never  be  able  to  live  in  it. 
He  could  not  say  so,  of  course — not  just  now,  and  not 
without  a  much  better  parade  of  reasons  than  he  could 
manage  to  put  into  line  impromptu.  But  there  the  cer- 

338 


THE    VIEW    FROM    A    HOUSE 

tainty  was — full-blown  in  his  mind.  Unless  he  could  away 
with  his  convictions  and  his  obstinacy,  unless  he  could  un- 
dertake and  succeed  in  his  quest,  it  would  be  impossible  for 
him  to  live  in  the  house  here  on  the  hill,  with  Winnie  hardly 
a  stone's-throw  away  at  the  cottage  on  the  road  to  Nether 
End.  The  idea  was  preposterous.  Yet  he  had  to  go  on 
looking  at  the  house  and  admiring  it.  The  Aikenheads  de- 
manded nothing  short  of  enthusiasm.  About  a  house  he 
could  never  live  in!  Poor  Dick  Dennehy  did  his  best  to 
pump  it  up,  but  the  trials  inherent  in  his  position  were  ter- 
ribly aggravated  by  this  incidental  addition  of  the  house. 
Cyril  Maxon  and  Bertie  Merriam,  in  their  kindred  struggles 
with  loyalties  and  convictions,  had  at  least  been  spared  this 
irritating  feature.  Why,  there,  actually  visible  from  his 
study  windows,  were  the  chimneys  of  Winnie's  cottage. 
Tora  triumphantly  pointed  them  out  to  him. 

Dick  Dennehy  had  the  gift — the  genius — of  his  race;  he 
saw  the  fun  of  his  own  sufferings.  As  he  surveyed  the  tops 
of  Winnie's  chimneys — with  Winnie  at  his  elbow,  dis- 
creetly awaiting  his  opinion  as  to  whether  their  presence 
enhanced  the  beauty  of  the  landscape — his  face  wore  a  look 
of  rueful  amusement,  instead  of  the  simple  admiration  which 
the  outlook  from  his  study  ought  to  have  inspired  in  him. 
At  the  moment  Tora  and  Stephen  were  having  an  animated 
wrangle  in  the  passage  outside,  relative  to  the  merits  of  a 
dustbin,  sent  on  approval. 

"I  hope  I  don't  intrude  ?"  said  Winnie,  waving  her  hand 
toward  her  chimney-pots. 

"I'll  be  reminded  of  you,  if  I'm  ever  in  danger  of  for- 
getting." 

"We  could  almost  start  a  system  of  communication — 
flag-wagging,  or  even  wireless.  Anything  except  thought- 

339 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

transference!  I  couldn't  risk  that  with  you — though  you 
could  with  me  quite  safely." 

"Ah,  you're  always  teasing  me,  Winnie." 

"You've  not  been  nearly  enthusiastic  enough  about  the 
house,  you  know.  Make  an  effort." 

"  I'll  be  trying  to  say  a  few  words  on  it  after  dinner.  Will 
you  be  at  dinner  ?" 

"I  shall.     Tora  has  asked  me  to  entertain  you." 

"You  can  do  that — and  more  when  you've  the  mind  to  it." 

"I  must  warn  you  at  once  that  I  take  most  of  my  meals, 
except  breakfast,  at  the  Patch — in  brief  intervals  of  relaxa- 
tion from  the  Synopsis." 

Dick  had  heard  of  the  Synopsis.  "You'll  be  learning  a 
lot  of  nonsense,"  he  remarked. 

"Oh,  I  don't  need  the  Synopsis  to  learn  that.  Just  talk- 
ing to  people  is  quite  enough." 

"We  won't  have  a  telegraph;  we'll  have  a  telephone, 
Winnie.  Then  I'll  hear  your  voice  and  admire  your  con- 
versation." "And  not  see  your  face,"  he  had  very  nearly 
added. 

Winnie  demurely  surveyed  the  landscape  again.  "My 
chimneys  are  a  pity,  aren't  they  ?  They  spoil  the  impres- 
sion of  solitude — of  being  alone  with  nature — don't  they  ? 
But  judging  from  Tora's  voice — it  sounds  really  aggrieved 
— I  think  it's  time  we  went  and  umpired  about  the  dustbin. 
When  those  two  do  quarrel,  the  contempt  they  express  for 
each  other's  opinions  is  awful." 

If  the  situation  had  its  pathetic  side  for  poor  Dick  Den- 
nehy,  there  was  more  than  one  aspect  on  which  a  sense  of 
humor  could  lay  hold.  Besides  Dick,  impelled  by  love  yet 
racked  by  conscience,  and,  in  consequence,  by  chimney-pots 
in  the  middle  distance,  there  were  the  Aikenheads.  En- 

340 


THE    VIEW    FROM    A    HOUSE 

grossed  in  each  other,  in  their  studies  and  theories,  they 
saw  nothing  of  what  was  going  on  under — and  seemed  now 
to  Winnie  as  plain  to  see  as — their  noses.  They  had  be- 
stowed immense  pains  on  the  house,  and  had  counted  on 
giving  Dick  a  triumphant  surprise.  His  behavior — for  even 
after  dinner  he  achieved  but  a  very  halting  enthusiasm — 
was  a  sore  disappointment.  They  understood  neither  why 
he  was  not  delighted,  nor  why,  failing  that,  in  common 
decency  and  gratitude,  he  could  not  make  a  better  show  of 
being  delighted.  Good-tempered  as  they  were,  they  could 
not  help  betraying  their  feelings — Tora  by  a  sudden  and 
stony  silence  touching  the  house  of  whose  beauties  she  had 
been  so  full;  Stephen  by  satirical  remarks  about  the  heights 
of  splendor  on  which  Dick  now  required  to  be  seated  in  his 
daily  life  and  surroundings.  Dick  marked  their  vexation 
and  understood  it,  but  could  not  so  transform  his  demeanor 
as  to  remove  it,  and,  being  unable  to  do  that,  began  by  a 
natural  movement  of  the  mind  to  resent  it.  "They  really 
might  see  that  there's  something  else  the  matter,"  he  argued 
within  himself  in  plaintive  vexation.  Within  twenty-four 
hours  of  his  arrival  the  three  were  manifestly  at  odds  on 
this  false  issue,  and  the  tension  threatened  to  become  greater 
and  greater.  It  was  all  ridiculous,  a  comedy  of  mistakes, 
but  it  might  end  in  a  sad  straining  of  an  old  and  dear  friend- 
ship. 

To  avert  this  catastrophe  Winnie  determined  to  give  the 
go-by  to  coy  modesty.  Dick  Dennehy  had  not  told  her  that 
he  loved  her,  but  she  determined  to  acquaint  the  Aikenheads 
with  the  interesting  fact.  What  would  happen  after  that 
she  did  not  know,  but  it  seemed  the  only  thing  to  do  at  the 
moment. 

After  lunch  on  the  second  day  of  the  visit  Dick  Dennehy, 

341 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

in  a  desperate  effort  to  be  more  gracious,  said  that  he  would 
go  across  and  have  another  look  at  the  house.  Nobody 
offered  to  accompany  him.  Tora  seemed  not  to  hear  his 
remark;  Stephen  observed  sarcastically  that  Dick  might 
consider  the  desirability  of  adding  a  ball-room  and  a  theatre, 
and  with  that  returned  to  his  labors  on  the  Synopsis. 
Winnie  sat  smiling  while  Dick  departed  and  left  her  alone 
with  Tora. 

"You  think  he's  not  appreciative  enough  about  the  house, 
don't  you,  Tora  ?"  she  asked. 

"I  think  he  just  hates  it,  but  I  really  don't  know  why." 
"It's  not  his  own  house  that  he  hates;  it's  my  chimneys." 
"Your  chimneys  ?     What  in  the  world  do  you  mean  ?" 
"He  can  see  them  from  his  study  window — just  where  he 
wants  to  be  undisturbed." 

Tora  might  be  a  profound  speculative  thinker,  but,  no, 
she  was  not  quick  in  the  little  matters  of  the  world.     "  Do 
you  mean  to  say  that  the  man  objects  to  seeing  any  single 
house  from  his  windows  ?     Really  Dick  is  putting  on  airs!" 
"It  depends  on  who  lives  in  the  single  house." 
"But  you  live  there."     Tora  stared  at  her.     "Have  you 
quarrelled  with  him  ?     Do  you  mean  to  say  he  dislikes  you  ?" 
Winnie  broke  into  a  laugh.     "On  the  contrary,  Tora." 
At  last  light  dawned.     A  long-drawn  "Oh!"  proclaimed 
its  coming.     "I  see.     I  never  do  notice  things  like  that. 
Then  you've  refused  him,  have  you  ?" 

"Oh  no,  he's  never  asked  me.  He  never  told  me  any- 
thing about  it — not  directly,  or  meaning  to,  at  least."  This 
qualification  in  view  of  the  talk  at  the  railway  station. 
"But  I'm  sure  of  it." 

"Then  why  doesn't  he  tell  you  ?  Or  have  you  snubbed 
him  hopelessly  ?" 

342 


THE    VIEW    FROM    A    HOUSE 

"I  haven't  done  much  either  way,  but  it's  not  that.  You 
see,  he  thinks  that  he's  not  free  to  marry  me,  and  that  I'm 
not  free  to  marry  anybody." 

"Then  he'd  better  stop  thinking  such  nonsense,"  said 
Tora,  with  her  habitual  and  most  unphilosophical  contempt 
for  other  people's  opinions. 

"I  don't  know  about  that."  Winnie  shook  her  head 
doubtfully.  "  But  I  think  that  it  would  ease  the  situation 
if  you  gave  Stephen  just  a  hint." 

"I'll  go  and  tell  him  at  once."  Hints  were  not  in  Tora's 
line. 

The  first  result  of  her  friend's  mission  which  reached 
Winnie's  ears  was  a  ringing  peal  of  laughter  from  the  sanc- 
tum where  the  Synopsis  was  in  course  of  preparation.  It 
was  Wednesday  —  a  half-holiday  for  the  assistants  —  and 
Stephen  was  alone.  When  once  the  situation  was  eluci- 
dated, he  enjoyed  the  humor  of  it  immensely. 

"Well,  we  have  been  a  pair  of  dolts,  you  and  I,  Tora. 
Poor  old  Dick!  He  must  have  been  wishing  us,  and  the 
house  too,  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea.  But  what's  to  be 
done  ?" 

"Why,  you  must  tell  him  not  to  be  so  silly,  of  course;  I 
don't  know  what  she'll  say,  but  let  him  take  his  chance." 

"I'm  getting  a  bit  shy  of  taking  a  hand  in  these  complica- 
tions. We  didn't  make  much  of  a  success  out  of  the  Led- 
stone  affair,  among  us!  I  think  I  shall  let  it  alone  and 
leave  them  to  settle  it  for  themselves." 

"You  never  have  the  courage  of  your  convictions.  It's 
one  of  your  worst  faults,  Stephen."  With  this  condemna- 
tion on  her  lips,  Tora  departed  into  the  garden. 

When  Winnie  went  in  to  resume  her  labors,  Stephen 
looked  up  from  his  books  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye. 

343 


MRS.  MAXON    PROTESTS 

"Trouble  again,  Winnie  ?" 

"I  really  thought  you'd  better  know  about  it,  or  you'd 
burn  Dick's  house  down." 

"You  seem  to  have  a  knack  of  setting  fires  ablaze  too." 

"You  might  just  let  it  appear  that  you've  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  it's  not  the  house  which  makes  Dick  so 
grumpy.  Don't  say  a  word  about  me,  of  course." 

"He'll  think  me  much  cleverer  than  I  have  been." 

"Well,  I  should  think  you'd  like  that,  Stephen.  I  should, 
in  your  place." 

He  laughed  good-humoredly.  "Oh,  well,  I  deserve  that 
dig." 

"It's  rather  funny  how  this  sort  of  thing  pursues  me.  isn't 
it  ?  But  it's  quite  half  your  fault.  If  you  will  collect  a 
menagerie.of  opinions,  and  throw  me  into  the  middle  of  it — " 

"It's  not  strange  that  the  animals  like  the  dainty  morsel, 
even  though  the  keepers  don't  approve  of  the  diet  ?  But  I 
didn't  collect  all  the  animals." 

"No,"  said  Winnie,  smiling  reflectively.  "I  did  pick  up 
one  or  two  for  myself  in  the  course  of  my  journeyings  through 
the  world.  I'm  not  quite  sure  I  want  any  others." 

"He's  an  awfully  good  fellow,  old  Dick." 

"Yes.  And  now  I'm  going  back  to  Utopia — where 
animals  like  only  their  proper  diet." 

Meanwhile  Dick  Dennehy  was  not  taking  another  look 
at  his  house,  nor  endeavoring  to  form  a  more  favorable 
estimate  of  it.  He  was  walking  up  and  down  in  the  field 
behind  it,  which  under  Tora  Aikenhead's  skilled  care  had 
already  assumed  something  of  the  semblance  of  a  garden. 
He  had  to  settle  his  question  one  way  or  the  other.  If  one 
way,  then  good-bye,  for  a  long  while  at  least,  to  the  new 
house  and  to  Shaylor's  Patch;  if  the  other,  he  would  try  his 

344 


THE    VIEW    FROM    A    HOUSE 

fortune  with  a  good  courage.  Although  his  case  had  points 
of  similarity  enough  to  justify  Winnie  in  linking  it  with 
those  others  which  had  presented  themselves  in  her  ex- 
perience, it  was  not  identical  with  any  one  of  them,  but  had 
its  own  complexion.  He  was  not  called  upon  to  defy  public 
opinion  and  to  confuse  the  lines  of  social  demarcation,  as 
Godfrey  Ledstone  had  been.  Nor  to  revolutionize  his  ideas 
and  mode  of  life,  like  Bob  Purnett.  Nor  to  be  what  he 
must  deem  disloyal  to  his  profession  and  false  to  his  work 
in  the  world,  like  Bertie  Merriam.  Cyril  Maxon's  case 
was  closer;  yet  Cyril  had  only  to  pass,  by  an  ingeniously 
constructed  bridge,  from  the  more  extreme  to  the  less  ex- 
treme of  two  theories,  and  in  so  doing  found  abundance  of 
approval  and  countenance  among  men  of  his  own  persua- 
sion. Dick  was  confronted  with  a  straight,  rigid,  unbend- 
ing prohibition  from  an  authority  which  he  had  always  re- 
spected as  final  and  infallible. 

Yet  he  seemed  asked  to  give  up  the  whole  of  his  real  life, 
to  empty  life  of  what  made  it  worth  living.  Save  for  one  or 
two  boyish  episodes  of  sentiment,  he  had  kept  clear  of  love- 
affairs.  He  brought  to  Winnie's  service  both  the  fresh 
ardor  of  a  young  man  and  the  settled  conviction  of  maturity. 
He  had  never  a  doubt  in  his  mind  that  for  him  it  was  this 
woman  or  no  woman;  his  knowledge  of  himself  and  his 
past  record  made  the  certainty  more  trustworthy  than  it 
generally  is.  Given  then  that  he  had  a  chance  of  winning 
her,  it  was  a  mighty  sacrifice  which  was  demanded  of  him 
— even  to  the  spoiling  and  maiming  of  his  life,  and  the 
starvation  of  his  spirit. 

His  was  a  perfectly  straight  case;  there  was  no  confusing 
it,  there  could  be  no  golden  bridge;  a  supreme  authority  on 
the  one  side,  on  the  other  the  natural  man,  fortified  by 

345 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

every  secular  justification — for  he  would  be  breaking  no 
law  of  the  land,  infringing  no  code  of  honor,  injuring  no 
man  whose  rights  or  feelings  he  was  under  an  obligation  to 
respect.  And  he  would  be  affording  to  the  creature  he 
loved  best  in  the  world  happiness,  as  he  believed,  and,  of  a 
certain,  peace,  protection,  and  loving  care — things  of  which 
she  stood  in  need;  to  Dick  Dennehy's  notions,  notwithstand- 
ing his  love  and  admiration,  her  record  showed  that  she 
stood  sorely  in  need  of  them.  Here,  on  one  side  of  his 
mind,  he  found  himself  in  a  paradoxical  agreement  with  the 
authority  which  the  other  side  wanted  to  defy.  It  and  he 
agreed  about  her  past  doings,  but  drew  from  them  a  dif- 
ferent conclusion.  He  adored  her,  but  he  did  not  think  that 
she  could  take  care  of  herself.  He  believed  that  he  could 
take  care  of  her — at  the  cost  of  defying  his  supreme  au- 
thority; or  he  would  not  use  the  word  defying — he  would 
throw  himself  on  its  mercy  in  a  very  difficult  case.  The 
creature  he  loved  best  of  all  things  in  life  would  do,  he 
feared,  more  unpardonable  things,  unless  he  himself  did  a 
thing  which  he  had  been  taught  to  think  unpardonable  in 
itself.  He  invited  her  to  nothing  that  she  was  obliged  to 
hold  as  wrongdoing;  he  did  not  ask  her  to  sin  against  the 
light  she  possessed.  That  sin  would  be  his.  His  chivalry 
joined  forces  with  his  love;  to  refrain  seemed  cowardice  as 
well  as  almost  impossibility.  There  was  the  dogma — but 
should  there  be  no  dispensation  ?  Not  when  every  fibre  of 
a  man's  heart,  every  impulse  of  a  man's  courage,  cried  out 
for  it? 

The  sun  sank  to  its  setting.  He  stood  in  the  garden  and 
watched  how  its  decline  made  more  beautiful  the  gracious 
prospect.  A  little  trail  of  smoke  rose  in  leisurely  fashion 
from  the  chimneys  of  Winnie's  cottage.  The  air  was  very 

346 


THE    VIEW    FROM    A    HOUSE 

still.  He  turned  and  looked  at  the  new  house  with  a  new 
interest.  "Would  it  be  good  enough  for  her,  now?"  asked 
Dick  Dennehy.  The  sudden  vision  of  her  in  the  house 
— of  her  dainty  ways  and  gracious  presence,  her  chaff 
and  her  sincerity — swept  over  his  mind.  She  had  been 
wrong — but  she  had  been  brave.  Braver  than  he  was 
himself? 

To  the  horizon  sank  the  sun.  Dick  Dennehy  turned  to 
look  at  it  again.  As  the  glow  faded,  peace  and  quiet 
reigned.  Very  gradually  evening  fell.  He  lifted  his  hat 
from  his  head  and  stood  watching  the  last  rays,  the  breeze 
stirring  his  hair  and  freshening  his  brow.  He  stood  for  a 
long  time  very  still,  as  he  was  wont  to  stand,  quiet,  atten- 
tive, obedient,  at  the  solemn  offices  of  his  Church — the 
Church  that  was  to  him  creed,  conscience,  and  half  mother- 
land. Suddenly  his  soul  was  at  peace,  and  he  spoke  aloud 
with  his  lips,  even  as  though  in  response  to  the  voice  of  One 
walking  in  the  garden  in  the  cool  of  the  day.  "I  must  do 
what  I  must  do,  and  leave  it  to  the  mercy  of  God." 

23 


XXIX 

IS  THE  RESULT? 

"/^~\N  further  inspection  it  turns  out  to  be  a  perfectly 
V_>/  corking  house — a  jewel  of  a  house,  Stephen!" 

Winnie  had  gone  home,  and  Stephen  was  working  alone 
at  the  Synopsis  when  Dick  Dennehy  walked  into  the  room 
with  these  words  on  his  lips.  Stephen  looked  up  and  saw 
that  something  had  happened  to  his  friend.  The  embar- 
rassed hang-dog  air  had  left  his  face.  He  looked  a  trifle 
obstinate  about  the  mouth,  but  his  eyes  were  peaceful  and 
met  Stephen's  straightforwardly. 

"In  fact,  there's  only  one  fault  at  all  to  be  found  with  it." 

"Give  it  a  name,  and  Tora  will  put  it  right,"  said  Stephen, 
in  genial  response  to  his  friend's  altered  mood. 

Dick  smiled.  "I'm  afraid  Tora  can't,  but  I  know  of 
another  lady  who  can — if  she  will.  It's  a  bit  big  for  a 
bachelor;  I'll  be  feeling  lonely  there." 

"Oh,  that's  it,  is  it?"  Stephen  laughed.  "Now  I 
rather  thought  it  was  all  along."  At  some  cost  to  truth,  he 
was  carrying  out  Winnie's  injunction.  "You  were  so — 
well — restless." 

"I  was.  And  Tora  was  cross  with  me,  and  you  laughed 
at  me,  and  then  I  got  savage.  But  it's  all  over  now — so  far 
as  I'm  concerned,  at  least.  You  know  who  it  is  ?" 

"Well,  I  almost  think  I  can  guess,  old  fellow.  We're  not 
blind.  Winnie?" 

348 


IS    THE    RESULT? 

Dick  Dennehy  nodded  his  head.  "I'll  have  it  settled  be- 
fore I'm  many  days  older." 

His  mouth  was  now  very  firm,  and  his  eyes  almost  chal- 
lenging. It  was  evident  even  to  the  lover  of  discussion  that 
here  was  a  decision  which  was  not  to  be  discussed,  one  which 
only  the  man  who  came  to  it  himself  could  judge.  Stephen 
felt  the  implication  in  Dick's  manner  so  strongly  that  he 
even  retrenched  his  faint  smile  of  amusement,  as  he  held  out 
his  hand,  and  said,  "Good  luck!" 

Dick  nodded  again,  gave  a  tight  grip,  and  marched  out 
of  the  room. 

Leaving  the  patient  Synopsis  and  lighting  a  pipe,  Stephen 
indemnified  himself  for  the  self-restraint  he  had  exercised 
in  not  talking  the  case  over  with  Dick  by  indulging  in  a  sur- 
vey of  a  wider  order — one  which  embraced  all  Winnie's 
career  from  the  time  of  her  rebellion;  there  were  few  feat- 
ures with  which  confidential  talks,  interspersed  between 
their  labors,  had  not  familiarized  him.  His  mind  was  not 
now  on  Winnie's  share  in  the  matter — neither  on  how  she 
had  conducted  herself  nor  on  how  she  had  been  affected  by 
her  experiment  and  experience.  It  fastened,  with  its  usual 
speculative  zest,  on  the  conflict  and  clash  of  theory  and 
practice,  opinion  and  conduct,  which  the  story  revealed 
throughout  its  course  and  exemplified  in  instance  after  in- 
stance. When  put  to  a  searching  personal  test,  everybody, 
or  almost  everybody,  had  in  some  way  or  another  broken 
down;  if  they  were  to  be  judged  by  the  strict  standards  which 
they  professed,  or  by  the  canons  which  habitually  governed 
their  lives,  they  had  been  failures.  Here  was  Dick  Dennehy 
ending  the  series  with  a  striking  example.  But  Godfrey 
Ledstone  had  begun  it.  His  was  a  twofold  failure;  he  was 
false  to  his  own  theories — to  that  code  of  his — when  he 

349 


MRS.  MAXON    PROTESTS 

adopted  Winnie's;  he  was  false  in  turn  to  Winnie's  when  he 
was  ashamed  of  her  and  fled  back  to  respectability  tempered 
by  elasticities.  Cyril  Maxon  followed  suit,  bartering  his 
high  doctrine,  wriggling  out  of  its  exacting  claims,  for  the 
chance  of  Rosaline  Deering.  Even  that  fellow  Purnett,  to 
whom  regularity  and  domesticity  were  anathema,  had  of- 
fered to  become  regular  and  domestic.  The  only  exception 
seemed  to  be  the  soldier  Merriam;  even  here  Stephen 
doubted  the  existence  of  a  sure  exception.  Winnie  had  left 
the  details  of  that  talk  in  the  garden  at  Madeira  in  obscurity, 
yet  it  was  clear  enough  that  she  had  not  put  out  her  power. 
Supposing  she  had  ?  Yet,  granting  the  exception,  he  proved 
it  to  his  own  satisfaction  to  be  more  apparent  than  real. 
Merriam's  case  was  not  a  conflict  of  opinion  and  conduct; 
it  was  more  properly  a  clash  between  two  allegiances  both 
in  essence  personal  in  their  nature;  between  inclination  and 
a  conception  of  duty,  no  doubt,  but  of  a  duty  so  specialized 
and  (if  the  word  might  be  used)  so  incarnated  as  to  lose  its 
abstract  quality  and,  by  virtue  of  concreteness,  to  acquire  a 
power  of  appeal  really  as  emotional  in  character  as  the 
emotion  with  which  it  came  into  collision.  It  seemed  to 
him  that  here  was  a  case  of  an  apparent  exception  test- 
ing the  rule,  not  disproving  it.  The  rule  emerged  triumph- 
ant from  the  test — so  declared  Stephen  Aikenhead,  very 
anxious  to  find  a  clue  to  the  labyrinth  and  fast  colors  in  the 
shifting  web  of  human  nature.  When  it  came  to  a  pitched 
battle,  the  views  and  theories  were  worsted;  the  man  him- 
self won  the  day,  calling  to  his  aid  reserves  ordinarily  hidden 
in  the  depths  of  his  nature.  By  a  pardonable  instinct  they 
all  made  the  best  case  they  could  for  their  failures  and  de- 
viations— explanations,  excuses,  bridges;  they  saved  the 
show  of  consistency  as  far  as  they  could.  But  however 

350 


IS    THE    RESULT? 

great  or  small  the  success  of  this  special  pleading,  it  did  not 
alter  the  truth.  The  natural,  essential — to  use  a  new  word, 
the  subliminal — man  himself  in  the  end  decided  the  issue. 

Small  wonder!  thought  Stephen;  for  these  opinions  were 
a  motley  host — enemies  among  themselves.  If  one  of  them 
were  putting  up  a  good  fight,  another  was  already  ready  to 
fall  on  its  flank.  If  one  were  making  a  strong  case,  there 
was  another  to  whisper  its  weak  point  in  the  adversary's  ear, 
or  to  suggest  insinuatingly — "Well,  if  he  can't  allow  you 
what  you  want,  try  me!  I'm  much  more  accommodating. 
I  recognize  exceptions.  I  know  the  meaning  of  counsels  of 
perfection.  I  understand  the  limits  of  human  nature."  Or 
conversely — "You'll  get  no  real  comfort  from  that  shifty 
fellow.  He'll  betray  you  in  this  world,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
next.  Rest  on  me.  I'm  a  rock.  Rocks  make  hard  beds, 
you  say  ?  A  little,  perhaps,  now  and  then,  but  think  how 
safe  they  are!  And  how  they  appeal  to  your  imagination, 
rising  foursquare  to  heaven,  unshakable,  eternal!"  And 
then  there  was  that  plausible  little  rogue  of  an  opinion 
which  protests  always  that  it  is  not  an  opinion  at  all — 
nothing  so  troublesome — "Don't  bother  your  head  with 
any  of  those  fellows.  Please  yourself!  What  does  it  mat- 
ter ?  Anyhow,  what  do  any  of  them  really  know  about  it  ? 
You  might  just  as  well  toss  up  as  try  to  decide  between  them. 
I'm  an  opinion  myself,  you  say — just  as  bad  as  they  are  ? 
Not  at  all!  How  dare  you  ?"  So  they  went  on,  betraying, 
competing,  outbidding  one  another — like  a  row  of  men  sell- 
ing penny  toys  in  the  street,  each  trying  to  shout  louder  and 
to  get  more  custom  than  the  other.  In  such  an  irreverent 
image  did  Stephen  Aikenhead  envisage  the  Quest  after 
Truth,  whereof  he  was  himself  so  ardent  a  devotee. 

He  had  got  back  to  his  old  formula.     Things  were  in  so- 

35 1 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

lution.  It  was  a  very  welter  of  opinions.  Was  that  state 
of  things  to  last  forever?  "Or" — he  mused — •"  shall  we  to 
some  future  age  seem,  oh,  ridiculously  mixed  ?  Will  they 
have  settled  things  ?  Will  they  have  straightened  out  the 
moral  and  social  world  as  the  scientific  fellows  are  straighten- 
ing out  the  physical  universe  ?  If  they  have,  they'll  never 
understand  how  we  doubted  and  squabbled.  Only  some 
great  historian  will  be  able  to  make  that  intelligible  to  them. 
Or  will  men  go  on  forever  swirling  round  and  round  in  a 
whirlpool  and  never  sail  on  a  clear,  strong  stream  to  the 
ocean  of  truth  ?" 

So  the  muser  mused  in  his  quiet  study,  with  the  roar  of 
the  water  in  his  ears.  Had  he  chanced  to  think  of  it,  he 
would  have  found  that  he  was  himself  an  example  of  the 
conclusion  to  which  his  survey  of  Winnie  Maxon's  ex- 
periences had  led  him.  His  speculations  might  ask,  with 
"jesting  Pilate,"  "What  is  truth  ?"  and  stay  not  for  an  an- 
swer that  could  never  come.  The  natural  man,  Stephen 
Aikenhead,  was  irresistibly  bent  on  finding  out.  He  re- 
turned briskly  to  the  Synopsis — to  his  own  little  task  of 
blasting  away,  if  by  chance  he  could,  one  fragment  of  the 
rocks  that  dammed  the  current. 

He  worked  on,  reading  and  making  notes.  The  clock 
struck  six,  and  seven,  and  half-past.  He  did  not  notice. 
Five  minutes  later  the  door  opened,  and  Winnie  came  in. 

"What's  come  over  the  house?"  she  asked.  "You  in- 
vited me  to  dinner  at  half-past  seven!  Here  you  are,  not 
only  not  dressed,  but  with  your  hair  obviously  unbrushed! 
And  Tora  and  Dick  went  off  to  the  new  house,  Ellen  tells 
me,  at  half-past  five,  with  a  lantern,  and  haven't  come  back 
yet!" 

"Oh,  did  they?  Then  Dick's  evidently  made  it  all  right 

352 


IS    THE    RESULT? 

with  Tora  too."  He  rose  and  stretched  himself.  "I  think 
you'll  have  to  look  out  for  something  to-night  or  to-morrow, 
Winnie.  Dick  has  made  up  his  mind;  he's  decided  that  the 
house  is  otherwise  delightful,  but  has  just  one  fault.  He'd 
be  lonely  in  it  as  a  bachelor." 

Winnie  sat  down  and  looked  at  him  thoughtfully.  "I 
wish  it  hadn't  come  so  soon.  I'm  not  ready.  And  I  do 
have  such  bad  luck!" 

"He'll  wait  as  long  as  you  like.  And  how  does  the  bad 
luck  come  in  here  ?" 

"I'm  always  forced  into  seeming  to  exact  a  sacrifice  of 
some  sort." 

"Well,  from  some  points  of  view  that  was  likely  to  follow 
from  the  line  you  took.  From  your  own  side  of  the  matter, 
is  it  altogether  a  bad  thing  that  a  man  should  have  to 
search  his  heart — to  ask  what  you're  really  worth  to 
him  ?" 

"Suppose  he  should  bear  me  a  grudge  afterward?" 

"Dick's  too  square  with  his  conscience  to  do  that.  He 
knows  it's  his  own  act  and  his  own  responsibility." 

"At  any  rate  I  won't  have  any  more  vows,  Stephen,  no 
more  on  either  side.  I  don't  like  them.  I  broke  mine  once. 
I  thought  I  had  a  right  to,  but  I  didn't  like  doing  it.  Cyril 
had  broken  most  of  his,  in  my  view,  but  people  seem  so 
often  to  forget  that  there's  more  than  one."  She  gave  an 
abrupt  little  laugh.  "Cyril  vowed  to  'comfort'  me!  Im- 
agine Cyril  being  obliged  to  vow  to  comfort  anybody,  poor 
man!  He  couldn't  possibly  do  it." 

"In  the  matter  of  vows  they  let  you  down  easy  at  the 
registry  office." 

"In  his  heart  Dick  won't  think  that  a  marriage  at  all." 

"You  put  that  just  wrong.  In  his  opinions  he  mayn't,  in 

353 


MRS.  MAXON    PROTESTS 

his  heart  he  will.  I  know  Dick  Dennehy  pretty  well,  and 
you  may  be  sure  of  that." 

"  I  never  wanted  to  be  a  lawless  woman.  But  it  was  com- 
ing, or  had  come,  to  hatred;  and  it's  such  awful  ruin  to  live 
with  a  person  you  hate — much  worse,  I  think,  than  the 
things  they  do  set  you  free  for." 

Stephen  smiled.  "I  can  find  you  some  very  respectable 
authority  for  that — a  good  passage  in  Dollinger — but,  I  think, 
don't  you,  to-morrow  ?  After  all,  there's  such  a  thing  as 
dinner!" 

"There  is,  and  it'll  be  disgracefully  overcooked."  She 
rose  and  came  across  to  him.  "Give  me  your  blessing  and 
a  kiss,  Cousin  Stephen.  I  think  I  see  happiness  glimmering 
a  long  way  off." 

"I  don't  think  it's  ever  very  far  off,  if  you  can  see  it,"  said 
Stephen,  and  kissed  her. 

Winnie  shook  her  head  doubtfully.  She  had  suffered 
such  a  tossing  and  buffeting;  the  quiet  of  harbor  seemed  a 
distant  goal,  even  if  she  could  now  steer  a  straight  course 
toward  it.  Her  feelings  were  still  on  edge;  she  shrank  in- 
stinctively from  any  immediate  call  to  strong  emotion. 
There  was  another  trouble  in  her  mind,  secret,  hardly  ex- 
plicit, but  real;  if,  because  of  what  she  had  done,  Dick 
Dennehy,  still  dominated  by  the  convictions  which  he  meant 
to  disobey,  should  show  that  he  thought  she  was  to  be 
had  for  the  asking,  she  would  resent  it  bitterly — even  to  a 
curt  and  final  refusal.  That  would  be  almost  as  great  a 
failure  as  Godfrey  Ledstone's,  and  such  a  rock  might  still 
lie  in  the  way  of  her  ship  to  its  harbor.  Much  turned  on 
Dick  Dennehy's  bearing  toward  her. 

But  the  days  that  ensued  at  Shaylor's  Patch  were  full  of 
healing  grace.  There  was  the  cordiality  of  friendship  again 

354 


IS    THE    RESULT? 

unclouded,  Tora's  serenity,  Stephen's  alert  and  understand- 
ing comradeship.  Dick  came  when  his  work  allowed — it 
may  be  surmised  that  he  stretched  its  allowance  to  the  full 
— and  there  were  now  infinite  interest  and  unbounded  fun 
over  furnishing  his  house.  In  this  work  a  formula  was  hit 
upon,  suitable  to  the  state  of  suspense  in  which  the  master's 
affairs  stood.  "Eventualities  must  be  borne  in  view,"  said 
Stephen,  with  treacherous  gravity.  Dick  bore  them  in  view 
to  the  full  limit  of  his  purse — and  how  could  Winnie  refuse 
a  friendly  opinion  on  questions  of  taste  ?  Nobody  men- 
tioned Mrs.  Lenoir's  furniture,  now  at  the  cottage.  It  was 
not  really  very  suitable  for  a  country-house,  and  in  any  case 
it  would  be  pleasanter  to  make  the  fresh  start  in  wholly  fresh 
surroundings.  Winnie  mentally  transmuted  it  into  new 
frocks,  in  which  shape  it  would  serve  a  purpose,  tem- 
porary indeed,  but  less  charged  with  associations. 

In  no  set  confession,  but  in  various  intimate  talks,  the 
whole  of  her  story,  and  the  whole  of  her  own  attitude 
toward  it,  came  to  Dick's  knowledge.  She  attempted  to 
conceal  neither  her  passion  for  Godfrey  Ledstone  nor  the 
attraction  with  which  at  the  last  Merriam  had  drawn  her. 
The  latter  case  she  was  especially  anxious  that  he  should 
understand. 

"I  was  angry  at  first  at  being  thought  impossible,  but  he 
made  me  see  his  point  of  view,  and  then  I  almost  fell  in  love 
with  him,"  she  said,  smiling.  "Only  almost!" 

It  was  not  the  old  Dick  Dennehy  who  listened;  he  would 
have  had  a  ready  explanation  of  how  all  the  troubles  had 
come  about,  and  a  vehement,  though  good-humored,  de- 
nunciation for  the  origin  of  them.  Not  only  his  feeling  for 
Winnie,  but  his  own  struggle,  with  its  revelation  and  its 
compromise,  changed  him.  He  listened  with  a  grave  at- 

355 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

tention  or,  sometimes,  with  a  readily  humorous  sympathy. 
If  he  was  rightly  or  wrongly — probably  he  himself  would 
have  used  neither  word,  but  would  have  said  "perforce" — 
disobeying  his  supreme  authority,  yet,  as  a  man  here  in  this 
world,  he  found  some  compensation  in  an  increased  hu- 
manity, a  widened  charity,  an  intensified  sense  of  human 
brotherhood.  He  deliberately  abandoned  the  effort  to 
strike  a  balance  between  loss  and  gain,  but  the  gain  he  ac- 
cepted gladly,  with  a  sense,  as  it  were,  of  discovery,  of 
opened  eyes,  of  a  vision  more  penetrating.  He  got  rid  of 
the  idea  that  it  was  easy  for  everybody  to  believe  what  he 
believed,  if  only  they  would  be  at  the  pains,  or  that  it  was 
mere  perverseness  of  spirit  which  prevented  them  from  acting 
in  exact  accord  with  his  standards — or  even  with  their  own. 
Thus,  as  the  days  passed,  his  aim  was  no  more  to  forgive 
and  forget,  but  to  appreciate  and  to  understand.  With 
Winnie  this  was  an  essential,  if  their  harmony  were  to  be 
complete.  So  much  of  the  spirit — or  the  pride — of  the 
theorist  survived  in  her.  She  would  not  take  even  a  great 
love  if  it  came  accompanied  by  utter  condemnation;  per- 
haps she  could  not  have  believed  in  it,  or,  believing  in  it  for 
the  time,  would  have  seen  no  basis  of  permanence. 

In  the  early  days  the  ardor  of  love  was  all  on  his  side; 
her  heart  was  not  so  easily  kindled  again  into  flame.  Only 
gradually  did  the  woman's  absolute  faith  and  grateful  af- 
fection for  the  man  blossom  into  their  natural  fruit — even  as 
by  degrees  Winnie's  joy  in  life  and  delight  in  her  own  powers 
emerged  from  their  eclipse.  Again,  now,  her  eyes  sparkled 
and  her  laugh  rang  out  exultantly. 

"She  sounds  in  a  good  humor,"  said  Stephen  Aikenhead. 
"If  one  did  happen  to  want  anything  of  her,  it  might  be 
rather  a  good  moment  to  ask  it,  I  should  think." 

356 


IS   THE    RESULT? 

Dick  looked  up  from  the  evening  paper.  "  Is  she  ready, 
Stephen  ?" 

"I  think  so,  Dick." 

With  a  buoyant  step  Dick  Dennehy  walked  out  into  the 
garden,  whence  the  laugh  had  come.  Winnie  was  alone; 
her  laugh  had  been  only  for  a  hen  ludicrously  scuttling  back 
to  her  proper  territory  in  fear  of  the  menace  of  clapped 
hands.  She  wore  a  black  lace  scarf  twisted  about  her  head; 
from  under  its  folds  her  eyes  gleamed  merrily. 

"Would  you  be  walking  with  me  in  the  meadow  a  bit, 
by  chance  ?"  he  asked. 

Something  in  his  gaze  caught  her  attention.  She  blushed 
a  little.  "Yes,  Dick." 

But  they  walked  in  silence  for  a  long  while.  Then  she 
felt  her  eyes  irresistibly  drawn  to  him.  As  she  turned  her 
head  he  held  out  his  hands.  Slowly  hers  came  forward  to 
meet  them. 

"You  couldn't  send  me  away  now,  could  you,  Winnie  ?" 

"Oh,  Dick,  have  you  thought  it  all  over,  looked  at  every 
side  of  it — twenty  times,  a  hundred  times,  five  hundred 
times  ?" 

"Not  I!  I  looked  at  it  all  round  once  for  all,  and  I've 
never  doubted  of  it  since.  I've  been  waiting  for  you  to  do 
all  that."  His  smile  was  happy  and  now  confident. 

"Well,  in  the  end,  I  like  it  better  like  that.  I  like  you 
to  think  so,  anyhow,  even  if  you're  deceiving  yourself. 
Because  it  shows — "  She  broke  off  mischievously.  "What 
does  it  show,  Dick  ?" 

"Why,  that  you're  the  jewel  of  the  world  1  What  else 
would  it  be  showing?" 

"  But  what  about  the  lady  you  were  unhappy  over,  that 
evening  at  the  station  ?" 

357 


MRS.  MAXON    PROTESTS 

"You  knew  it  was  yourself  all  the  time!" 

"Then  how  did  you  dare  to  say  it  wasn't  serious  ?  And 
to  call  yourself — or  me — a  fool  ?" 

"You're  teasing  me  to  the  end,  Winnie." 

She  grew  grave  and  slipped  her  arm  through  his.  "I 
knew  really  why  it  wasn't  and  couldn't  be  serious  to  you — 
and  why  just  in  that  way  it  became  terribly  serious.  Time 
was  when  I  should  have  thought  you  silly  to  think  it  so 
serious,  and  when  you  would  have  kept  it '  not  serious '  right 
to  the  end.  We've  changed  each  other,  Dick.  I  you,  you 
me — and  life  both  of  us!  And  so  we  can  make  terms  with 
each  other." 

"Terms  of  perfect  peace,"  he  answered.  He  knew  what 
was  in  her  mind.  "I  give  you  my  honor — in  my  soul  I'm  at 
peace." 

"Then  so  be  it,  dear  old  Dick.  For  neither  am  I 
ashamed."  She  turned  round  to  face  him,  and,  putting 
her  hands  on  his  shoulders,  kissed  his  lips.  "Now  let's  go 
over  to  your  house,  and  see  that  this  eventuality  really  has 
been  properly  borne  in  view.  Dear  Stephen !  He'll  philoso- 
phize over  us,  Dick!" 

That  was,  of  course,  only  to  be  expected.  Yet  it  did  not 
happen  when  Stephen  and  his  wife  were  told  the  great  news 
after  dinner.  On  the  contrary,  after  brief  but  hearty  con- 
gratulations, the  host  and  hostess  disappeared.  Winnie 
thought  that  she  had  detected  a  glance  passing  between 
them. 

"They  needn't  be  so  very  tactful!"  she  said,  laughing. 

They  were  very  tactful;  for  even  to  lovers  the  time  they 
stayed  away  was  undeniably  long.  There  could  be  no  il- 
lusion about  the  progress  of  the  hands  of  the  clock.  Yet 
when  Tora  and  Stephen  came  in  and  were  accused  of  an 

358 


IS    THE    RESULT? 

excessive  display  of  the  useful  social  quality  in  question, 
Tora  blushed,  denied  the  charge  rather  angrily,  and  bade 
them  all  a  brief  good-night.  Stephen  glared  through  his 
spectacles  in  mock  fury. 

"You  two  think  yourselves  everybody!  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  for  the  last  hour  or  so — how  late  is  it  ?  Eleven!  Oh, 
I  say!  Yes,  of  course!  Well,  for  the  last  two  hours  or  so, 
Tora  and  I  have  forgotten  your  very  existence;  and,  if  I 
may  use  the  candor  of  an  old  friend,  it's  rather  a  jar  to  find 
you  here.  You'd  better  escort  your  friend  home,  Mr. 
Dennehy." 

"Well,  what  have  you  been  doing  then  ?"  laughed  Winnie. 

"It's  one  of  Tora's  theories  that  I  should  propose  to  her 
all  over  again  about  once  a  year — and  somehow  to-night 
seemed  rather  a  suitable  opportunity,"  Stephen  explained. 
"She's  at  perfect  liberty  to  refuse  me,  and,  as  a  matter  of 
fact,  she's  generally  rather  difficult  about  it.  That's  why 
it's  so  late."  His  eyes  twinkled  again.  "She  imposes  all 
sorts  of  conditions  as  to  my  future  conduct.  I  argue  a  bit, 
or  she  wouldn't  respect  me.  Then  I  give  in — but,  of  course, 
I  don't  observe  them  all,  or  what  fun  would  it  be  next  year  ? 
She's  accepted  me  this  time,  but  she  says  it's  the  last  time 
unless  I  mend  my  ways  considerably.'" 

A  spark  of  Dick  Dennehy's  old  scorn  blazed  out.  "So 
that's  the  way  she  gets  round  her  precious  theory,  is  it  ? 
And  the  woman  a  respectable  wife  and  mother  all  the 
time!" 

Winnie  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm.  "There  is  one  thing 
that  can  get  round  everything,  Dick." 

"A  fact  which,  in  all  its  bearings  for  good  and  evil,  must 
be  carefully  brought  out  in  the  Synopsis,"  said  Stephen 
Aikenhead. 

359 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

They  left  him  twinkling  luminously  at  them  through 
clouds  of  tobacco-smoke. 

"Hang  the  man,  is  he  in  earnest  about  his  old  Synopsis, 
as  he  calls  the  thing  ?"  asked  Dick  Dennehy,  as  they  started 
for  the  cottage. 

Winnie  considered.  "I  don't  quite  know.  That's  the 
fun  of  Stephen!  But,  anyhow," — she  pressed  his  arm — "if 
this  thing — our  thing — doesn't  end  before  the  Synopsis  does, 
we're  all  right!  It  '11  last  our  lives,  I  think,  and  be  still  un- 
finished." Her  laugh  ended  in  a  sigh,  her  sigh  again  in  a 
smile.  "Oh,  I'm  talking  as  if  it  were  a  fairy-tale  ending, 
out  of  one  of  Alice's  stories.  Well,  just  for  to-night!  But 
it  isn't  really — it  can't  be,  Dick.  It's  not  an  ending  at  all. 
It's  a  beginning,  and  a  beginning  of  something  difficult. 
Look  what  you're  giving  up  for  me — the  great  thing  I'm 
accepting  from  you!  And  it's  not  a  thing  to  be  done  once 
and  for  all.  It  '11  be  a  continuing  thing,  always  cropping 
up  over  other  things  great  and  small.  Oh,  it's  not  an  end- 
ing; it's  only  a  start.  Is  it  even  a  fair  start,  Dick  ?" 

"  It's  matter  of  faith,  like  everything  else  in  the  world  that's 
worth  a  rap,"  said  Dick  Dennehy.  "At  all  events,  we  know 
this  about  each  other — that  we're  equal  to  putting  up  a 
fight  for  what  we  believe  in  and  love.  And  odds  against 
don't  frighten  us!  I  call  that  a  fair  start.  What  do  you 
make  of  life,  anyhow,  unless  it's  a  fight  ?  We'll  fight  our 
fight  to  a  finish!" 

His  voice  rang  bravely  confident;  his  sanguine  spirit 
soared  high  in  hope.  When  she  opened  the  cottage  door 
and  the  light  from  a  hanging-lamp  in  the  narrow  passage 
fell  on  him,  his  face  was  happy  and  serene.  With  a  smile 
he  coaxed  her  apprehensions.  "Ah,  now,  you're  not  the 
girl  you  were  if  ye're  afraid  of  an  experiment!" 

360 


IS    THE    RESULT? 

She  put  her  hands  in  his.  "Not  the  girl  I  was,  indeed! 
How  could  I  be,  after  it  all  ?  But  here's  my  life — am  I  to 
be  afraid  of  it  ?  Any  use  I  am,  any  joy  I  have — am  I  to  turn 
tail?  I  won't,  Dick!" 

"Always  plucky!     As  plucky  as  wrong-headed,  Winnie!" 

"Wrong-headed  still?"  she  laughed,  now  gayly.  "That 
question,  like  everything  else,  is,  as  Stephen  says,  'in  so- 
lution.' It's  not  my  fate  to  settle  questions,  but  it  seems 
as  if  I  couldn't  help  raising  them!" 

To  those  who  would  see  design  in  such  matters — in  the 
interaction  of  lives  and  minds — it  might  well  seem  that  here 
she  put  her  finger  on  a  function  to  which  she  had  never 
aspired,  but  for  which  she  had  been  effectually  used  in 
several  cases.  She  had  raised  questions  in  unquestioning 
people.  Her  management  of  her  life  put  them  on  inquiry 
as  to  the  foundations  and  the  canons  of  their  own.  For 
Dick  Dennehy  even  her  chimney-pots  had  streaked  the  sky 
with  notes  of  interrogation!  She  had  been,  as  it  were,  a 
touchstone,  proving  true  metal,  detecting  the  base,  revealing 
alloy;  a  test  of  quality,  of  courage,  of  faith;  an  explorer's 
shaft  sunk  deep  in  the  ore  of  the  human  heart.  She  had 
struck  strata  scantily  auriferous,  she  had  come  upon  some 
sheer  dross,  yet  the  search  left  her  not  merely  hopeful,  but 
already  enriched.  Twice  she  had  found  gold — in  the  soldier 
who  would  not  desert  his  flag  even  for  her  sake,  in  the  be- 
liever who,  for  her  soul's  sake  and  his  love  of  her,  flung  him- 
self on  the  mercy  of  an  affronted  Heaven.  Both  could  dare, 
sacrifice,  and  dedicate.  They  obeyed  the  call  their  ears 
heard,  though  it  were  to  their  own  hurt — in  this  world  or, 
mayhap,  in  another.  There  was  the  point  of  union  be- 
tween the  man  who  forswore  her  for  his  loyalty's  sake  and 
the  man  who  sheltered  her  against  his  creed. 

361 


MRS.   MAXON    PROTESTS 

In  the  small  circle  of  those  with  whom  she  had  shared 
the  issues  of  destiny  she  had  unsettled  much;  of  a  certainty 
she  had  settled  nothing.  Things  were  just  as  much  in  solu- 
tion as  ever;  the  welter  was  not  abated.  Man  being  im- 
perfect, laws  must  be  made.  Man  being  imperfect,  laws 
must  be  broken  or  ever  new  laws  will  be  made.  Winnie 
Maxon  had  broken  a  law  and  asked  a  question.  When 
thousands  do  the  like,  the  Giant,  after  giving  the  first- 
comers  a  box  on  the  ear,  may  at  last  put  his  hand  to  his  own 
and  ponderously  consider. 


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